


ugly moon

by weepies



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Kid AU, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 79,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepies/pseuds/weepies
Summary: Richie Tozier hasn’t spoken a word to anybody since he came to Derry in the middle of the school year. Until he talks to Eddie Kaspbrak.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was also posted on my tumblr @oaf ! please reblog it if u enjoyed or somethin

He sits in the back of the classroom with his head on the table and his eyes closed, chocolate curls dancing along his forehead and plump lips curled into the most beautiful frown. Nobody knows why he’s here, or where he’s come from, just that he smokes expensive cigarettes and smells like an adult’s cologne. Sixteen-year-old Richie Tozier has not spoken a word to anybody in the eleventh grade since the first day he arrived—December seventh, Eddie would never forget it.

Richie is tall and slender, but the jean jacket he wears rolls off his shoulders in the way it would a child. The glasses settled on his nose are bulky, out of character for his cool demeanor, and he wears them only some days. Eddie wonders if he wears contacts the days his glasses are left at home. Eddie wonders about Richie a lot.

The only person to even  _interact_  with Richie is Beverly; one time during lunch, Richie pulled out a pack of smokes and went over to the side of the school building to smoke. While Eddie had watched with eager eyes, Beverly slid out off the bench the losers were sitting at and approached Richie. Richie didn’t do anything but nod his head at Beverly, but Beverly took out a cigarette anyways and sat with him.

It has become a regular occurrence—Beverly and Richie smoking together. But he doesn’t say anything, even when they’re alone.

Eddie often wonders what Richie’s voice sounds like.

“What’re you dreaming about?” Beverly whispers from Eddie’s side. They’re in class. The teacher is talking about formulas and patterns… Eddie must’ve dozed off. “You’ve got this dopey grin on your face—like some kind of lovesick puppy.”

“Hardly,” Eddie whisper-yells, glancing at the teacher to make sure she’s not looking. Her back is turned as she speaks, dragging her hand across the blackboard, writing an equation with a piece of squeaky chalk. “Pay attention. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“Sure, Eddie.” Beverly chuckles quietly and turns back to the teacher. As Eddie bites his lip, he thinks about how he needs to be more attentive during class. If he doesn’t pay attention during class then he’ll totally flunk the—

“Richie,” the teacher’s voice is loud and clear. She’s suddenly facing the class again, the piece of chalk squished between her fingers pointed directly at the new kid. Eddie feels his heart warm at just Richie’s name.

How is it he has a schoolgirl crush on somebody he doesn’t even know?

“Since you seem so attentive, why don’t you come up to the board and solve this equation?” There is a chorus of snickers and giggles from the class, but Richie doesn’t even look bothered. He just stares, like he always does, head still rested on the table, arms still tucked beneath his head. “I’m waiting, Richie,” the teacher says.

When Richie finally moves, he walks sluggishly, as if sleep is just an acquaintance. The teacher hands Richie the piece of chalk, and he sighs before pressing it to the blackboard. There is silence amongst the class, and when Richie calmly lowers the chalk to his side, everyone is eager to see what conflict is going to come from Richie and the teacher.

Except conflict never comes.

The teacher glances over Richie’s answer before clearing her throat. “Thank you, Richie. It’s correct. Return to your seat.”

Richie goes back to his seat. Eddie looks over his shoulder at Richie as he rests his head against his desk again. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen a living person look so dead.

Instead of Richie’s gaze returning to the right wall, he looks directly at Eddie. There’s a flutter in Eddie’s heart. Richie doesn’t look away.

Eddie turns back to the board, but throughout the rest of the period, it feels like somebody is looking at him.

Once the class is dismissed, Beverly sends a look over her shoulder at Richie. Eddie pretends not to notice, but he knows she’s about to tell Eddie to meet the others for lunch so she can smoke.

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, because it is. “I’ll just meet Bill outside of his class.”

“All right.” She smiles at him. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Packing up his things, Eddie eyes Richie and Beverly as they leave the classroom.

(why do I care so much?)

“E-E-Eddie!” A voice calls from the door—Bill. Eddie smiles at Bill as Bill approaches his desk. “I figured B-B-Bev was g-gonna w-w-want to s-smoke.”

And so the two go outside to sit at their usual lunch spot. They always sit outside whilst they each lunch. There’s a picnic table that’s nearly been carved to pieces behind the school. Bill often says he’s going to carve all their initials into it—but when they’re seniors, so he doesn’t get in trouble for vandalism. Ben, Stanley, and Mike all grin at Bill and Eddie as they approach their table.

“Hey,” Eddie says, taking a seat and pulling his lunchbox from his backpack. “How was everyone’s class?”

“Pretty interesting, actually, and Biology isn’t even my favorite subject,” Ben replies. Then he goes on and explains what they were taught during class. Eddie thinks Bill pipes up and adds to the conversation, but he can’t be too sure; he’s distracted again.

Eddie sanitizes his hands before taking his sandwich out of his lunchbox and raising it to his lips. He’s about to take a bite, and then there’s an uncomfortable feeling on him. He looks around, trying not to seem peculiar to his friends, and lands his gaze on the side of the school building.  

(why won’t Richie stop looking at me?)

He’s just standing there and  _looking_  at Eddie—a straight-faced, closed mouth kind of look. That  _look_.

Maybe Eddie is just overthinking it.

“He’s cool, right?” Mike bumps Eddie’s shoulder, bringing him back into the conversation. Eddie turns to Mike and clutches his sandwich tightly between his hands. “He’s in my History class. He barely pays attention to anything, but he seems to have quite the eyes for you.”

Now Eddie’s cheeks flush and he smacks Mike on the back. “Cut that out. He’s not cool at all, he’s just…” Eddie can’t stop his eyes from wandering over to the side of the building, where Richie and Beverly are standing together, smoking in silence. “He’s just weird.”

Even Ben chuckles at this.

“Sure, Eddie,” Mike says, and he grins before biting into his apple. Stanley snickers at Eddie’s red cheeks as he stands up from his seat on the bench. He gestures vaguely to Bill, and Bill clears his throat, seemingly understanding what it is Stanley is implying.

“We’re going to work on a project in the library,” Stanley says. “See you guys later.”

“Buh-bye,” Bill says, throwing his trash out. Then the two are off. Eddie doesn’t think much of it and eats his sandwich, keeping his eyes away from Richie.

Ben, Mike, and Eddie all chat and laugh, and then Beverly comes over to eat her lunch. She smells like burnt cigarettes. Eddie plugs his nose not so discreetly. By the time Mike thinks to glance at his watch he realizes they’re nearly late to class, and everyone races to throw out their food.

As the others walk to the trashcan, yelling “Bye!” Eddie trips over his feet and spills his garbage on the floor.

“Shit,” he mutters, leaning down to pick everything up. The others have left him alone, and so he’ll be the only one late to class. Sighing, he piles all his trash into his hands and hurries to the garbage. It’s quiet all around. He thinks everyone has gone into the school by now.

After he’s thrown out his trash, he rushes to sanitize his hands.

(there are so many germs in the garbage can… so, so many germs.)

“Clumsy, huh?” A deep voice says. The bottle of sanitizer once grasped within Eddie’s hands falls to the grass with a soft thud. Eddie turns to look, and he thinks his heart may stop; Richie is standing beside him, loose curls in their usual unkempt chocolaty mess, thin lips pulled into a relaxed smile. It’s the first smile Eddie has ever seen on him.

He likes it.

“Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy,” Richie says again, and he lets out a low whistle. He moves to toss out the butt of his cigarette. Richie’s voice is not like Eddie thought it would be; it’s raspier

(which is to be expected, what, with smoking eight hundred fucking cigarettes a day)

and he speaks very quickly. “Huh,” Richie says, and Eddie wonders if the only two words in Richie’s vocabulary are  _huh_  and  _clumsy_. “I thought I was the mute one—what’s your excuse?” Richie laughs now.

(why can’t I say anything?)

“What?” Eddie sputters.

(I shouldn’t have said anything)

“You know, I’ve been studying you, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie says. He’s using a British accent. Digging his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket, he retrieves his box of cigarettes.

(curse that fucking jean jacket)

“I’ve been studying ya! You’re quite the interesting subject.” Lighting a cigarette, Richie eyes Eddie curiously. He’s back to his normal Voice now: “So you’re, what, a hypochondriac? Do you have some traumatic backstory involving germs?”

“God, you’re such a trashmouth. I liked you better when you didn’t talk,” Eddie says, and it’s mostly a joke (although Richie’s teasing is getting old), but it sounds surprisingly mean leaving his mouth. Nonetheless, Richie just sticks his cigarette between his lips, claps, and then laughs.

“Most people do! You’re pretty funny, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie says. He takes a drag of his cigarette. Eddie tries not to gag.

“Will you stop calling me by my full name? And we’re both late to class.” As Eddie takes a step forward, Richie holds out his arm, blocking Eddie.

“What would you rather I call you? Eds? Eddie Spaghetti?”

(he’s a mute until he starts talking; then he never shuts up.)

“All right. Eds it is!” Richie claps a hand to Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie instantly raises his hand to aid the spot. Richie begins to walk backwards toward the school building, grinning toothily. “See ya around, Eds! By the way, I like that game we play!”

“What game?” Eddie calls out, confused.

“The one where you look at me and I pretend not to notice!”

Eddie stands there, dumbfounded. It isn’t until Richie is completely inside the school that Eddie finally wills his feet to move. He goes to class, gets scolded for being late, but nothing can wipe the dopey grin off his face; sixteen-year-old Richie Tozier has not spoken to anybody in the eleventh grade since the first day he arrived—except now he has—and it was to Eddie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on my tumblr @oaf  
> hope u enjoy chapter 2!!

The next time Eddie sees Richie he smiles. There is something that pulls at Richie’s lips in reply, but afterwards he simply turns his head in the other direction. Then that’s it. For the rest of the school week, Eddie waves to Richie between classes, but Richie doesn’t respond at all. He seems more tired, more bored and disinterested, like talking with Eddie the first time took too much effort and now he needs to charge up. Eddie tries not to let it get to him, but it’s hard; he’s spent all this time wondering about Richie and then _finally_ he gets something, and then—it stops. Each time they pass, it’s as if Richie doesn’t even know Eddie is desperately trying to interact.

Nonetheless, the school week finishes quickly, with no more chatter from Richie. It seems as though the time he spoke to Eddie will be just that— _the only_.

It’s Saturday afternoon and Eddie is on the phone with Mike. Mike often calls on the weekends; he and Eddie are particularly close within their knit group of friends, and although everyone else is special to Eddie, too, Mike just gets him.

“He spoke to me, I swear he did,” Eddie tells Mike over the phone. He isn’t sure why, but he just needs to get it off his chest. “He hasn’t spoken to anybody, Mike! And then all of a sudden he’s talking to me—and annoying the shit out of me!”

“Maybe he was flirting,” Mike suggests, a lilt in his voice. Eddie’s eyes widen as he twirls the phone cord around his index finger.

“He was not! There’s no way he’s,” Eddie’s voice lowers, afraid his mother might hear from the next room over, “ _That_.”

“And why not? You’re _that_.”

“He’s just—“ Eddie tries to think of an excuse. If the thought of Richie being gay remains in his head any longer, his hopes would shoot up and he would inevitably be disappointed. “He barely functions like a regular human being. There’s no way he has feelings.”

Mike lets out a laugh. Then there’s a loud shout from his line of the phone. “Sure, Eddie. My grandpa’s calling for me now—gotta help with the work out front. But before I go, you bought your ticket for the school play, right?”

“Yeah, Stan and I picked up our tickets yesterday.” Eddie’s not particularly excited about the show, but is going to support Ben. He’s never been one for school productions. “Bill would have our asses had we not bought them already.”

“Just making sure. We gotta be there for Ben,” Mike replies. “All right, my grandpa’s yelling now. Bye.”

Mike hangs up and Eddie places the phone back on the wall. He sits at the kitchen table, unsure of what to do or who to call. He thinks a walk might be good; fresh air is healthy and he hasn’t been out of the house all day. It’s nearly five PM now, and it only stopped snowing a little while ago.

(a walk it is)

Eddie gears up, dressing in several layers with his winter jacket on top. It’s still December, almost time for winter vacation, and the air has never seemed so cold. Eddie doesn’t like the cold so much; it’s hard for him to imagine somebody does.

“I’m going for a walk, Mom!” Eddie yells from the front door. Without waiting for his mother’s reply, he shuts the door and starts down the street. The air is chill and the wind teases Eddie’s cheeks, but it’s relaxing nonetheless. Not much thought is put into where he’s walking. Eddie just wants to keep his feet moving. If his feet are moving, then his thoughts are moving.

(why did Richie talk to me? and why did he stop?)

A loud noise startles Eddie. Two children at the end of this block are having a snowball fight. They look to be of elementary school age, and are playing in front of a big old, brown house. It’s a home large enough to hold multiple children, perhaps even two families. As he walks by the house, Eddie wonders how he hasn’t noticed it before.

“Watch out!” One of the kids calls out—the young girl. Her hair is an unruly red and is separated into two uneven pigtails. A snowball comes reeling at Eddie and he bounces back, the snowball missing him by an inch. “Sorry!” She says to Eddie, and then she turns to the boy she’s with (her brother?) and says “Watch where you’re throwing, Jacob. You almost hit this guy!”

The brunet boy—Jacob—frowns at his sister before facing Eddie. Rubbing his arm, Jacob looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, and the two kids smile at him before racing back to their snow-covered front lawn. Eddie’s eyes follow the children, but the rattling of the brown house’s front door steals his attention. From where Eddie is standing, the figure who exits the house is nothing but a mess of hair and a black overcoat. The figure locks the door and catches sight of Eddie.

Eddie sees it’s Richie now, and he feels his heart warm, even in the chilled winter atmosphere. Richie waves to the two children playing on the lawn and picks up his pace to meet Eddie where he’s standing to the side of the road. Richie’s lighting a cigarette by the time he reaches Eddie. Plopping it to sleep on his bottom lip, Richie gives Eddie his usual grin. “What brings you here?” Richie asks, his voice low, as if he doesn’t want anybody else to hear.

(why talk to me now?)

“I-I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie retaliates, eyebrows raised.

“Babysitting. Somebody’s gotta supply the dough for these bad boys.” Richie slips his cigarette between two fingers and waves it at Eddie. Eddie takes a step back and Richie takes a drag before glancing around at the sky. Judging by the looks of it, it would only take thirty minutes or so for it to get dark out. “Where’re you headed?” Richie asks.

“Just for a walk,” Eddie says.

“Clearing your head?” Richie squints for some reason. Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

“Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Richie hums and flicks a bit of ash from his cigarette to the ground. He seems more rested than he was during the long school week. “Can I join you on this head clearing walk, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Fine. And would you quit calling me that?”

“Never.” Richie chuckles quietly. Huddling into his overcoat, he cocks his head toward the end of the street. “Shall we?”

The two boys walk down the street in silence, with Richie smoking his cigarette and Eddie watching. Eddie holds his breath and breaths through his nose to the side, not liking the smell of smoke. He thinks Richie pretends not to notice.

It takes a few minutes for Richie to say something. Eddie notices the brown house is out of sight by then.

“How was your Friday night?” Richie questions, and Eddie thinks he’s just being polite.

“Good. I just watched movies with my friends. We do that every Friday night.” Eddie feels as though he’s over sharing. “What about you?”

“What movies did you watch?” Richie asks, avoiding Eddie’s question. While his brows furrow and his arms cross, Eddie simply huffs before replying.

“I dunno, lots of movies.”

“You have a favorite?” Richie sucks on his cigarette. He looks genuinely interested, staring at Eddie as he waits for a reply. Suddenly Eddie’s mouth runs dry—he can’t stop looking at the dark circles beneath Richie’s eyes.

(does this kid ever sleep?)

Richie laughs randomly. “Not much, I’ll have you know!”

“Fuck.” Eddie’s cheeks warm; he’s just said that out loud. He hopes the cold has brought redness to his cheeks and his embarrassment goes unnoticeable. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Richie grins widely.

(how can someone smile this much?)

“I’m a bit of an insomniac,” Richie admits, but Eddie can tell that much already.

“No wonder you’re always sleeping during class.”

“Now you get it, Eds! You really fucking get it.” Richie sighs, content.

Part of Eddie wonders if Richie is in the right mind.

Then Richie seems to tune back into their previous conversation—just like that—before Eddie can even think of a reply. “You know, the only movie I’ve ever seen is _The Breakfast Club_.”

“ _What_? The _only_ movie?” Eddie is appalled.

“Yup. I saw it at a friend’s house.”

Eddie is pretty sure Richie doesn’t have any friends. “Before you moved to Derry?” he asks, unable to help himself.

“You’re pretty sharp! You catch on quick,” Richie says as he balances his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He shoves his hands into his pockets, craving warmth. It’s gotten colder than when they first met up.

“Why did you move to Derry, anyways?” Eddie asks, curious. He tries to be discreet about it. Richie is quick to reply.

“Dad’s job got relocated and—so did we.” He smiles and glances up at the sky. The sun is almost set completely. “I should go home,” Richie says in the British Voice. “I enjoyed clearing my head with you, my good sir.”

“Whatever, trashmouth,” Eddie replies.

“You’re so cute with your nickname for me, Eds!” Richie teases, back to his normal Voice.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. And don’t call me Eds!” Richie lets out a laugh. “Well.” Eddie fumbles with the sleeve of his winter jacket. He feels uncomfortable under Richie’s heavy gaze, but can’t seem to force himself to look away. “I guess I’ll see you at the school play tonight… everyone’s going.”

“Right,” Richie says with a smile. Eddie thinks there is a darkness in his eyes, but perhaps he’s just imagined it. “The show. Save me a seat.” Richie turns away from Eddie. No goodbye. Eddie tries not to think it over and watches Richie’s back as he walks.

(he won’t go to the show)

Night falls quickly, and Eddie, Mike, Beverly, Stanley, and Bill meet outside the school to go to the auditorium together.

“It’ll be a good one,” says Mike. He smiles widely at Eddie as Eddie’s eyes search for someone who’s not there. “Looking for someone?”

“No,” Eddie lies. He starts for the entrance of the school and waves weakly, gesturing for everyone to follow. “We don’t want all the good seats to be taken.” Inside, they find seats easily, and Beverly sits herself next to Eddie. She’s smiling at him widely, and he just knows Mike’s spilled something.

“Hey, Eddie,” she says. Her hair looks beautiful, done some sort of special way. Eddie wonders if it’s because she’s got a crush on Ben; everybody knows Ben’s got a thing for her, and Eddie can’t place why she wouldn’t return his feelings.

“Hey, Bev.”

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

(I’m going to kill Mike.)

“See anybody special?”

Eddie chews his cheek and rolls his eyes. “Would you stop talking about me with Mike?”

Beverly laughs and shakes her head. “I’m just teasing. I am a little curious, though, I’ve been trying to get him to speak since the first day, and then all of a sudden he talks to you. What did he say?”

“Nothing good. Just called me clumsy and then laughed.”

Beverly just smiles, then the lights go down. The show is quick. Ben plays his role well, and his bow at the end causes all his friends to clap wildly. He looks a little embarrassed up on the stage, but his friends are proud of him and he’s glad to know it. By the time everyone’s outside and walking home, it’s ten PM and Eddie knows his mother will scold him for being late. He had told her he would be home no later than nine.

His house is further than everyone else’s, and so he walks alone, saying goodbye as each of his friends turn their way home. And since it’s on the way, Eddie passes by the brown house. He isn’t sure why he’s curious, but he can’t shake the feeling of this house away. As he walks by, there is live music playing from the upstairs window. It is the only room that has the light on.

(someone is playing guitar)

There is singing.

(who’s playing?)

Stopping in his tracks, Eddie glances back at the house. He tries to place somebody in Derry that plays guitar so well, but can draw no conclusion.

Listening to the music, he looks up at the stars and admires the moon. It shines in an inexplicably beautiful way, and seems to breathe a feeling of safety; even though Eddie is alone in the darkness, he feels comfort with the moon.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It is Monday’s lunch period, and Eddie only has eyes for Richie. Eddie Richie is stomping out his cigarette. It seems as though he has not noticed Eddie’s lingering gaze. Eddie does not know whether he likes that or not. Richie’s hair blows in the winter wind, and he is huddled into his brown overcoat like the last time Eddie saw him. There is a tiredness to him, the same one from the week before. During the weekend, he almost seemed well rested. Eddie wonders why.

Ben glances back at Eddie before realizing who he’s looking at.

“That whipped, huh?” Ben says, but Eddie only hears him in the distance; he is too entranced by the beautiful boy with curly hair.

At lack of reply, Mike nudges Ben and speaks: “Yeah.”

“He was looking at you, too, you know. While we were smoking,” Beverly states, patting Eddie’s back to get his attention. Eddie only scoffs.

“Sure he was,” he says, though his heart warms at just the thought of Richie’s eyes on him.

“R-Ready to head i-i-i-inside?” Bill asks as Eddie finishes packing up.

“We should get going or we’ll be late,” Stanley says. There is an implied  _please hurry_  sewn into his words.

“Just go without me, guys,” Eddie says, because he wants to catch Richie before he goes inside. “I’ll be a few minutes anyways.”

“D-D-Don’t you have PE? Y-You k-know how angry M-Mr. Thomas gets.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Eddie insists. “Go in.”

Everyone sends Eddie one final glance before deciding to head inside. They say polite goodbyes and then leave Eddie to tend to his garbage. It is only when Richie turns to go inside that Eddie speeds up his cleaning process.

He just barely misses Richie, but as soon as Richie’s hand is reaching for the school’s front door, Eddie is speaking to him.

“You weren’t at the play,” Eddie says, breathless from rushing. He watches as Richie faces him and shifts his weight from one foot to his other.

“Yeah. Something came up.”

(what came up?)

“But do not fret, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s doing his infamous Voice again. “For I shall be at the next school play. I promise you.”

“Cut that dumb voice out, Richie,” Eddie says, but he says it through a smile and so he thinks Richie doesn’t take him seriously. “Anyways, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just thought you would because you’re new and all.”

“Because I’m new?”

“Yeah. Aren’t people supposed to socialize when they’re new?”

Richie grins and lets out a chuckle. “Are we? I wouldn’t know. I’m not much of a socializer.”

(you don’t say)

“Hey, let’s go somewhere,” Richie says.

“I thought you weren’t much of a socializer?”

“Okay, okay, well played.” Richie nods before tossing out his cigarette. “But seriously, let’s ditch and I’ll take you to this place I know.”

It almost feels as though Eddie’s the protagonist of some romance novel and Richie’s the mysterious love interest. Sneaking away with a boy he hardly knows? That’s not Eddie… but then why are his lips moving and why is he not immediately denying the idea?

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie challenges.

“A lifetime of fun!” Richie says. He looks so beautiful when he smiles. He is perhaps the most beautiful boy Eddie has ever seen. “C’mon, if we wanna sneak away before class starts we gotta do it now. Eds, my boy, it’ll be fun. I promise!”

“Don’t call me Eds, and I’m not your boy. Let me get my stuff before we go.”

“No time!” Richie says, and he grabs Eddie’s hand. Eddie instinctively pulls away, but Richie doesn’t look hurt at all. Embarrassed, Eddie doesn’t know what to say as his cheeks begin to redden. Ironically, Richie always seems to know what to say. “Be quick, Eddie. Stealthy,” he says, and then he begins to walk away from the school. There isn’t much else Eddie can do but follow, so he brings his lunchbox with him.

“You bringing your lunch? That’s cute! It’s like we’re having a lunch date,” Richie teases.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even eat lunch. While by the way, is  _very_  unhealthy. Studies say that a teenager needs—“

“Aw, Eds, you care about me? That’s awfully sweet.”

“Forget I said anything.” Eddie huffs and crosses his arms. The two boys walk down the street from the school. There are not so many cars passing by. “Where are we going, anyways?”

“Didn’t I tell ya it’s a surprise? I love surprises.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t.”

“Tough luck, good sir!” Richie says, British again. Eddie wonders why he does that. It must get tiring. “Why don’t we pick up the pace? If we’re late we might miss it.”

“Stop with that dumb voice. I don’t want you doing the British guy with me right now.”

“Fine, fine.” Richie returns to his actual Voice. “But seriously, if we don’t—“ Richie is cut off by the sound of a car zooming by. It’s nearly being driven off the road; the man in the front seat is whooping and yelling. Eddie thinks it’s a drunk driver. A bottle is thrown out the passenger side window, and it smashes just next to where Richie is walking. He jumps back, immediately, almost tumbling backwards but holding onto Eddie to stable himself.

His left hand is a fist in Eddie’s green tee shirt. Eddie does not say anything, just watches with his eyes as Richie seems as though he’s not  _there_.

Eyes glued to the smashed bottle, Richie does not make any movements. It almost seems as though he is in a trance, though Eddie doesn’t exactly know what a trace looks like.

“It’s just a bottle,” Eddie says, and he is scared. Richie just stares at the ground, ragged breaths leaving his lips. “It was just some asshole who threw it. It’s just a bottle, Richie.  _Richie._ ”

(it’s just a bottle)

When Richie blinks he is back, releasing Eddie’s shirt from a death grip. “Eds!” he says, and he slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders before walking with him. “Sorry for the delay—next stop, fun town!”

Eddie doesn’t know if he should mention it.

(would he even tell me the truth?)

“I’m taking you to my secret place. You got a bike?” Richie asks.

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugs Richie’s arm off his shoulders. “Why?”

“We’re gonna need one. How far you live from here?”

“Not that far… how do you get there if you don’t have a bike?”

“My folks drive me! Thank God for parents, am I right? You gotta love ‘em,” Richie says, smiling so hard Eddie’s curious as to if it hurts. “So, lead the way?”

The walk to Eddie’s house is pretty quiet. Richie smokes a cigarette and offers Eddie a drag every time he shoots him a disgusted look. While part of Eddie resents Richie for smoking at all, he can’t help but wonder how the nicotine must taste painted across Richie’s lips.

“This is your humble abode?” Richie asks when Eddie stops in front of his house.

“Yeah. Keep it down—if my mom sees I’m home she’ll freak.”

“Keep it down? Why keep it down when your mom likes it loud?” Richie jokes, eyebrows raised suggestively. Eddie hits Richie on the shoulder and Richie lets out a howl of a laugh.

“Shut the fuck up or I’m going back to school.”

“Fine. I wouldn’t want your mom to know we talk anyway. It might be weird for her—me and you being friends when we’re involved, I mean.”

(we’re friends)

“Seriously, stop. Beep beep, Richie.” Leading the way to where his bike is parked, Eddie’s blush just will not fade. Eddie sees Richie’s mouth drop out of the corner of his mouth as he mounts his bike.

“ _Beep beep, Richie?_  What am I? A fucking dog?”

“Whenever I say that it means you have to shut the fuck up. Got it?” Eddie asks.

“Well, gee. I love an assertive man. Tell me how it is, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Beep beep, Richie. Get on.”

“You want me up front or on back?” Richie purses his lips to keep from laughing. Eddie narrows his eyes.

“You’re so annoying.”

Stifling his laugh, Richie gets on the back of Eddie’s bike and wraps his hands around Eddie’s waist to keep stable. “This okay?” he murmurs, so close to Eddie’s ear.

“Y-Yeah. It’s fine. Where to?”

“Just outside of town, near the welcome sign. Make a right and then ride straight for a while. You’ll see it.”

It’s hard to drive straight when Richie’s so close, Eddie notices. It’s not like when Bill is close, or when Mike is close. Eddie’s heart feels like it’s plummeting down.

(does Richie feel it too?)

“Turn here?” Eddie asks once they reach the welcome sign.

“Right here.” The hands around Eddie’s waist adjust, and then tighten. A warm feeling grows in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and he hopes they arrive soon so he doesn’t embarrass himself. “Almost there… has anyone ever told you you’re an amazing driver?” Richie asks, lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s left ear. Eddie is pretty sure Richie is doing this on purpose.

“Cut it with the teasing or I’ll crash the bike.”

“But teasing you is half the fun of hanging with ya, Eds!”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie bikes straight until he sees a short looking building. It seems pretty rundown, but he doesn’t doubt that this is where Richie intended to take him. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

As Eddie parks his bike and Richie hops off, Eddie notices the soft sound of music erupting from the building. “What is this place?” Eddie asks, and Richie raises a finger to his lips, signaling silence. “What?”

“Quiet time, Eds,” Richie says softly. Then he approaches the front door and motions for Eddie to come, too, which he does—reluctantly.

(what is he getting me into?)

“Richie, what the hell is going on?” says Eddie as Richie pushes open the door. “What’s going—?”

Suddenly, Richie turns and grabs Eddie’s hand. Neither pulls away. They are looking at each other like they are the only two people in the world. Eddie’s palm burns, a good kind of burn. There is a sense of security in Richie’s hand, a sort of promise. It’s a promise that he won’t say with words. Eddie doesn’t know how he knows this but he just does.

Richie does not let go.

He walks inside and Eddie follows on light feet, sticking close behind Richie in the crowded building. There is music playing. Rock music. Eddie isn’t used to the sound, but it isn’t bad.

“Richie!” a deep voice says. It’s a man with blue hair, wearing dark clothes and lots of jewelry. Though Richie is tall, the man has a good few inches on him. He slaps Richie on the back, a friendly gesture. “What brings you here this early? And  _who’s_   _this?_ ”

There is a flirtation in the man’s eyes. Eddie doesn’t like it.

Richie just squeezes Eddie’s hand and stares up at the man, grinning.

“ _Oh,_ ” the man says, and he winks at Richie. “I see. So, you’re not talking today? What about singing? Alaric’s just bought this new blue bass and it’s got your name written all over it.

“Oh! Where’re my manners?” the man turns to Eddie, holding out his hand to shake. And Eddie does, but not without searching for the bathroom first. Who knows where this guy’s hand has been. “My name’s David.”

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie replies.

“How do you know Richie?” David asks, and he pulls a cigarette from the pack shoved in his pocket.

“School.”

“And he talks to you?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Somewhat.”

Richie tugs Eddie’s hand in another direction, pulling them away from David. Eddie is so much smaller than everyone else in this place; he has never felt so unimportant, but then… there is a hand in his, and it is Richie’s hand. Richie’s hand grounds Eddie, inexplicably.

Without saying a word to anybody else, Richie leads Eddie up to the center of the room. There’s a stage, and there are a few people up there setting up band equipment. Richie stands beside Eddie, quietly. It’s strange to see Richie like this now, since Eddie is so used to his big mouth.

(why does he only talk to me?)

“This is an original,” one of the guys on stage says. Eddie has never seen a person like this—he is wearing an orange overcoat and a teal blue shirt, with big poofy pants. Now that Eddie’s thinking about it, everyone in here looks different. Not bad different, just unfamiliar.

(why don’t I ever see any of these people in Derry?)

Then there is singing, and dancing, and grinding, and Eddie thinks he is having an asthma attack. Richie is bumping his head to the music. Eddie cannot place how long they have been here, but he can’t breathe. There are so many people, on every side of him, in every direction. Eddie needs to get away.

He drops Richie’s hand.

As Richie turns to see what is wrong, there seems to be a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

“I-I can’t breathe,” Eddie tries to explain, but he can’t get more than a few words out. “O-Outside. I’m going—“ Richie grabs his hand immediately and clears a way for the two of them, rushing to the front door. Eddie feels bad—Richie took him here for a good time, and here they were, having to leave because of Eddie’s asthma.

(stupid fucking asthma)

They are outside. Eddie grabs his aspirator from his pocket and Richie watches as he takes a puff of it.

“Sorry,” Eddie breathes, bending over as if to better catch his breath. Richie isn’t within his vision until he squats in order to see Eddie’s face. “I was having an asthma attack.”

“It’s okay,” Richie says, voice quiet. “Are you okay?”

“I think.” As Eddie stands up straight, he takes a breath and exhales deeply. “Fucking asthma. Always ruins everything.”

“Nothing’s ruined,” Richie says. He looks at Eddie for a long time. “I didn’t know you had asthma.”

“Well, I do.” Putting his aspirator away, Eddie both hates and loves the feeling of Richie’s eyes on him. When he looks up, he surveys the area around them. They’re to the side of the building, secluded by trees, where nobody passing by can see them unless they’re purposefully looking. “We can go back inside.”

“We don’t have to; we can sit here and listen. The music’s loud enough.” It wasn’t noticeable during his asthma attack, but now that Richie’s pointed it out, Eddie can hear the instruments and vocals just fine outside. Richie sits down and leans his back against the building. Eddie does, too. They are sitting side-by-side, leg pressed to leg, and Eddie wishes they were closer. So close that he can feel Richie’s hot breath on him, so close that they’re flush, that they’re more than whatever they are in this moment.

Eddie is hot all over. He doesn’t mind.

“Why did you bring me here?” Eddie asks, because he can’t hold it back anymore. He doesn’t think he’ll get an honest answer, but as Richie turns to face him, he is pleasantly surprised.

“I don’t know.” There are freckles dancing all over Richie’s face. Eddie has never been close enough to notice, but now he is—so damn close.

(I want to kiss you and I don’t even know you)

(fucking kiss me)

(god, kiss me trashmouth)

Richie doesn’t kiss him. Instead he says: “I guess I just wanted you to know.”

Eddie furrows his brows, confused. “Wanted me to know what?”

Richie does not answer; he looks away and closes his eyes. As Eddie watches Richie, counts the freckles on his face and imagines the softness of Richie’s pink lips, he realizes Richie is feeling the music again. Eddie thinks he’ll try it, too.

As the music plays, and the singer sings, Eddie remembers what Richie said:  _“I guess I just wanted you to know.”_

There is a brush of a hand against his, and Eddie opens his hand to Richie’s, not even afraid of who may see.

The lyrics to the song are loud and clear. The singer sings, wonderfully, and Eddie can feel the song in his heart, like he can the promise in Richie’s hand.

_I can’t take another hollow-point conversation._

_It’s getting harder to fake._

_The sound of you… an outlasting vibration._

_There’s something I can’t shake._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on my blog @mikeswheeler
> 
> hope u enjoy!

Eddie sits at his kitchen table doing homework, but his mind is elsewhere. Tapping his pencil, he thinks he could not focus if his life depended on it. His thoughts, while they should be filled with math equations and studying for the exams before winter break, is busy drifting, wandering…thinking about someone in particular.

(I don’t have a crush)

(I  _do not_  have a crush)

The phone rings and Eddie’s heart jumps at the thought that it could be—

(fuck)

Glancing around to make sure his mother isn’t nearby, Eddie drops his pencil and rises from his seat to go over to the phone. Nervously, he answers. He’s had his phone privileges taken away because of skipping with Richie last week. It’s Saturday night now, and Eddie hasn’t spoken to the losers since Tuesday morning when he told them the deep shit he got in.

Beverly was so quick to assume it was because of Richie—Eddie’s heart nearly flew out of his chest when she mentioned it.

“E-E-Eddie?” Bill’s voice sounds surprised.

“Billy,” Eddie says. “Hey. Sorry. My mom hasn’t let me use the phone.”

“I-It’s okay. I w-was calling to tell y-you that e-e-everyone is coming to my house t-tonight. D-Do you wanna come… if your mom lets you?”

“I can ask but, I’m not sure.” Eddie pulls the phone along with him as he peeps into the living room. His mother is fast asleep in her chair. He bites his lip as he ponders what to do. “She’s asleep.”

“W-We miss you. We h-haven’t seen much of you luh-lately.”

“I know, Bill, sorry.” Eddie feels as though he hasn’t done much other than apologize while on the phone. “I’ll be at your house.” If he’s quiet, he can leave without waking up his mom. She seems pretty out of it. “When should I be over?”

“R-Really?” Bill sounds overjoyed. “The others are c-coming in f-fifteen minutes. Buh-Beverly invited R-Richie.”

Something of a choking noise escapes Eddie’s throat and he coughs to cover it up. “What did he say?”

“S-she said that R-Richie will try to make it.”

“Oh.”

( _oh_ )

“Okay. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

“C-cool! Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, Billy.”

Quietly, Eddie packs up his homework and sneaks up to his bedroom. The bike ride to Bill’s house is quiet, and anxious, because Eddie can’t believe he’s disobeyed his mother twice in the same week. But there is a feeling embedded in the pit of his stomach. He thinks perhaps it is hope.

(Richie’s coming)

When Eddie arrives he knocks on the door excitedly. Ben answers with a huge grin, and he pulls Eddie into a loose hug.

“Eddie! We’re all glad you could make it. How did you talk your mom into it?” Ben asks. Shrugging, Eddie shakes his head. It’s best to lie. There are less complications that way.

“She saw how hard I was working on my studying, so she thought one night out couldn’t hurt.”

“That’s good,” Ben replies. “Bill’s just in the kitchen making popcorn. The others are picking out a movie in the living room.”

“Are Bill’s parents home?”

“Nope. Out of town for the weekend with Georgie. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

Eddie just smiles and Ben steps aside so Eddie can get inside. The living room is loud when they enter, lots of whooping and cheers erupt from their friends, and there are even Bill’s distant shouts from the next-door kitchen.

“E-Eddie!” Bill yells, pulling a bag of popcorn from the microwave. “Come h-help w-w-with the snacks.”

The smell of burnt popcorn fills the air.

“No kidding you need help, Bill. How do you fuck up popcorn?” Eddie laughs, approaching Bill. “I’ll do this. You can go sit down with the others.” As Bill leaves, Eddie sorts out the bags of popcorn into separate bowls. It isn’t until a few minutes later that Eddie hears Beverly’s familiar chuckle in his right ear and he turns slightly to look at her. “Hey, Bev,” he says, grinning politely.

“Hey, Ed,” she replies. “Need some help?” she gestures to the bags of candy that have yet to be dispensed.

“Sure.”

As Beverly rips open a bag of candy, she pops a few in her mouth before dumping the entire bag into a bowl. “I’ll try my best to save some for the others but it’s just so hard.” Laughing, she shovels more candy into her mouth before hoisting herself up onto the kitchen counter. “So, how’re things?”

“Fine,” Eddie says vaguely. “How’re things with you?”

“Could be better. I’ve been fighting with my aunt recently. She seems on edge but I’m not sure why.” Eddie wonders if Beverly is opening up in the hopes that he will share a secret in exchange. She does not mention Richie but the question is there, hidden between her chapped peach lips.

“Maybe she’s just stressed,” Eddie suggests, not wanting to buy into Beverly’s curiosity. He knows if he waits long enough she will come right out and say it, not wanting to beat around the bush for any longer. “I doubt it’s your fault.”

“Probably. Her work  _has_  been busy.” Kicking her legs, Beverly stares at Eddie, studying him as he finishes sorting the lasts of the snacks. “What about your mom? How’s she doing with the knowledge that you’re not her perfect scholar anymore?”

(and there it is)

“She’s not too thrilled. I’m grounded—basically house arrest, which is a bust, but—I don’t regret it.”

“He doesn’t either.”

Eddie’s hands freeze, enclosed around a bag of candy. He looks up at her and his heart is racing.

“He likes when I talk about you. His eyes light up a certain way.”

Eddie feels his cheeks redden, but he simply throws out all the snack bags in lack of reply. Finally, he grips the kitchen counter and meets Beverly’s eye.

“You asked him to come tonight?”

“Yeah. He said he’d try to show.”

(he’s not coming)

And as if she can read Eddie’s thoughts, she shoves herself off the counter and sighs. “Maybe he’ll surprise us and actually show up.” Then she’s smiling. “That’d be fun, right? Everyone hanging out with him?”

Nodding, Eddie feels silenced by his love-struck heart.

“You should’ve invited him. I think he’s more likely to come if it’s you who wants him here.” While her words are sad, she doesn’t look it. Beverly looks at Eddie like she knows what he’s feeling at all times. He doesn’t doubt that she does. It seems plausible; Beverly is somehow all knowing.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm. Let’s go to the living room.”

They both grab the snack bowls and meet everyone in the living room. There’s already a movie playing, but it’s only the previews now.

“You can’t skip the previews! They’re half the experience of watching a movie!” Stanley claims, frowning at Bill who fumbles with the remote. “Bill!”

“Fine,” Bill states with an annoyed tone, but the smile on his face says otherwise.

“What’re we watching?” Eddie asks, taking a seat on the floor next to Bill, handing him a bowl of popcorn. Beverly sits down next to Ben on the couch and passes the bowls of candy around.

“ _The Buh-Breakfast Club_ ,” Bill says. “Buh-Ben’s choice.”

_(“You know, the only movie I’ve ever seen is The Breakfast Club.”)_

Eddie can’t help but think of Richie. He feels like his friends are playing him.

(why does everything make me think of that trashmouth?)

“Okay, we’re skipping the previews. Hand me the remote, Bill,” Mike says.

“No!”

“Stan, stop!”

## …

Eddie’s mom never finds out about his sneaking out, and so Eddie goes to the big brown house the next morning during his walk. He hopes Richie will be there. He wants to ask about last night, why he didn’t come, why he never shows up anywhere outside of school.

There are different kids playing on the house’s front lawn this time. They’re smaller, only five or six. Two twin girls. As Eddie passes, he watches them play in the snow, eyes flickering to the front door of the brown house every so often.

“Looking for someone?” A quiet voice asks— _Richie_. He is wearing many layers today, with his wild hair contained by his overcoat hood. Eddie swallows nervously and digs his hands further into his pockets. Richie is standing in front of him, looking at him curiously, having just turned the street’s corner.

(I must look like a fucking creep)

“Are you babysitting now?” is all Eddie can say.

“No,” Richie says.

Glancing at the morning sun, Eddie musters up the little bit of courage he has. “Want to walk with me?”

Richie doesn’t even stop to think about it. “Where to?” he asks, pulling a cigarette from his pack. Lighting it carefully, he takes a long drag and lets out a sigh.

Eddie shrugs. “Anywhere.”

“Sure.”

The last time they spoke was Thursday afternoon at school, but it was nothing but polite conversation. Eddie figures Richie wasn’t feeling very talkative. Sometimes Richie just doesn’t want to talk. Eddie has learned to be okay with that. Richie has his days. Sometimes they are too often and it makes Eddie upset, but he is okay.

“How’s the asthma?” Richie asks. He isn’t smiling like usual. Eddie has the feeling he will have to earn a smile today.

“Still bad,” Eddie replies. “How’re the cigarettes?”

“Still great.”

(he’s got dark circles under his eyes)

“Did you sleep last night?” Eddie asks.

Richie shoots Eddie a sideways glance before clicking his tongue. “That’s always the question, Eds. And to that I say the same answer— _hell fucking no._ ”

“They have sleeping medication—“

“God, Eds, don’t give me a lesson on insomnia. It’s the fucking  _weekend._ Besides, don’t you think I’m an expert?” Richie sucks on his cigarette and then exhales deeply. “To put it simply, I hate it.”

“What?”

“Taking pills—I hate it. It’s just so.” Richie doesn’t finish his thought. Instead he rests his cigarette on his bottom lip and stretches his body upwards, holding his long arms above his head. The sleeves of his jacket pull down, revealing a pattern of dot shapes stained on both of Richie’s wrists.

“Where did you get those?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the scars. Richie glances at the dots before chuckling.

“Rolling over onto cigarettes in my sleep.” Eddie isn’t sure he buys it. There’s something about the marks that doesn’t seem like they were an accident. Still, Richie smiles painlessly. Then his stomach rumbles and he chuckles again.

“Want to get something to eat?” The question slips off Eddie’s tongue before he’s thought about it; he is desperate for a change of topic. Richie doesn’t seem startled, or even flattered, he just continues walking as he waits for Eddie to say something more.

(did holding hands mean nothing to him?)

Eddie feels silly for thinking it, but there was a promise in the weight of Richie’s hand. He knows it.

“I mean, I never see you eat anything so… we should go… just to make sure you’re getting all the nutrients you need.”

“Huh.” Stomping out his cigarette, Richie finally cracks something of a half-smile. “You’re pretty smooth, Eddie Spaghetti. What’s on the menu? Spaghetti, I hope.”

“Shut up, trashmouth. What are you in the mood for?”

“Well that depends.” Richie slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie wonders why he always does that. The weight of Richie’s arm on him is heavy, but still manages to make Eddie’s heart feel three times as light. “What are you comfortable with?”

And just like that, Eddie’s cheeks form their usual blush. He thinks it spreads down his neck and across his back—thankfully he’s completely covered for the cold.

“You’re such a trashmouth.”

“What? Being honest makes me a trashmouth?”

Turning to stare up at Richie, Eddie wants to know if he means it. There is a flirtatious look in Richie’s eyes, one Eddie has never seen before, not even when they were holding hands. The freckles spawned across Richie’s face lay on a bed of red skin. The weather kisses Richie’s skin with each blow of the wind. Eddie is jealous.

“Like the view?” Richie asks. He’s not mocking Eddie; he’s not smiling anymore. They are both stopped in the middle of the road, just looking, admiring.

(he feels the same way)

There is a twitch in Eddie’s hand and he hopes somehow Richie takes that as a hint.

(he’s gotta feel the same way)

“Because let me say…”

(does he ever stop talking?)

“This view is pretty incredible.”

(don’t ever stop talking)

A car zooms by and they both look away. They are standing at the side of the road. It is the 1980s. Somehow none of that matters, for there is a hand is raised in mid-air—Richie’s—and it is reaching for Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie sputters, eyes traced on Richie’s hand.

(he likes me)

(he  _likes_  me)

( _he likes me_ )

“Yeah,” Richie breathes.

(kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me)

Then the hand comes up to meet Eddie’s cheek. Richie’s palm is rough against the softness of Eddie’s skin, but the contact only prompts Eddie’s heart to speed up. His heart burns, and now his cheek does, too. Richie is so close. He breathes hot cigarette breath across Eddie’s cheeks, but Eddie doesn’t mind; he has been longing for a taste since the beginning of December.

(I’ve never felt like this before)

There is a quick flicker of something in Richie’s eyes. He drops his hand and leans away from Eddie, glancing around to see if anybody is watching.

There is nobody around.

(why did he pull away?)

“School break starts on Thursday,” Richie says, breaking the silence.

(didn’t he mean to kiss me?)

(why didn’t he kiss me?)

“Got plans? Going anywhere?”

“N-No.”

(I thought he wanted me)

(why doesn’t he want me?)

It is no use hiding his disappointment from Richie; it is written across Eddie’s entire face. From his eyes to his frown, he knows anybody is able to read him like an open book. But Richie looks calm, blank, as if his hand on Eddie’s cheek didn’t mean anything, as if his hand was not a promise and Eddie was just being stupid. Eddie feels foolish.

(why doesn’t he want me why doesn’t he want me why doesn’t he want me why doesn’t he want me why doesn’t he want me)

“Next weekend. You free?” Richie asks.

“Probably.” Eddie clenches his jaw. “Depends.”

(am I just a game?)

“I have something I wanna show you. Can you meet me where I brought you?” Richie asks. Eddie thinks of the short building with the big crowd and he grows nervous. Perhaps Richie can read it off his expression, because he says: “You’ll be okay. Less people will be there. Can you come?”

“Maybe.” Eddie doesn’t know what to think or do. He’s sad and angry but he still can’t help but like Richie. He doesn’t know what Richie is doing, or why; Eddie is not a game to be played. “Why do you talk to me?” The question comes out pushy, but Eddie can’t be bothered. “You don’t talk to anybody else. I see how you lower your voice around other people.”

Richie just stares. Eddie wishes he could read Richie. He’s curious as to if anyone can.

“I’ll tell you next weekend. Saturday, at three,” Richie states, then sighs. “I promise, Eddie Spaghetti.”

(he’s  _so_ )

“Fine.” Eddie finds his lips moving. Even struck by hurt, he can’t say no. “You better not be lying, trashmouth.”

“Eds, would I ever lie?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on tumblr @oaf

He is in his usual spot: the side of the school building, cigarette in hand, overcoat pulled tightly over his body. As Eddie stares at Richie, he bites his lip and digs a hand in his backpack, feeling for the two lunchboxes he packed today. It’s Tuesday, two days before school break starts, and Eddie is both nervous and excited. Saturday (at three) is not so far away.

“Forgot my pack today,” Beverly says, sitting down in Eddie’s usual seat. She smiles through her overgrown bangs and uses a lazy hand to push them back. “Sucks. Won’t be able to smoke with him today. Somebody should really go over and see how he’s doing. Don’tcha think, Mike?” She eyes Mike and is pleased when Mike grins widely over at her.

“Oh, definitely. Can’t be me though—he won’t speak a word. How am I supposed to know how he’s doing if he doesn’t talk?” Mike’s words are sad, but they are said through childish giggles. Eddie’s cheeks burn and he grabs both lunchboxes from his bag. He hides them as best as he can, but Mike’s eyes are too quick. He sees but says nothing. “Looks like it’s gotta be you, Ed.”

“What a shame,” Ben adds.

“Ha, ha,” Eddie says, pulling his scarf tighter. “You’re all terrible.”

“But you’re heading over there, aren’t you? So where would you be without our prompting?” Beverly laughs.

“Shut up. Where are Bill and Stan?” Eddie asks, genuinely curious.

“Still inside. Said they’ll be out in a few minutes,” Ben says.

“Well, go on, Eddie. Can’t keep your man waiting,” Mike teases. Eddie swats him on the side of the head. “Ow! It’s not like I’m wrong.”

“He is _not_ my man.”

“Not yet, maybe.” Beverly’s laugh only grows louder, more maniacal.

“I’ll be back.” Eddie huffs and begins to walk over to where Richie is standing. As soon as Richie catches sight of Eddie, he shoves his cigarette between his lips and grins.

“Eds!” he says cheerfully, voice low enough for the other losers to _almost_ make out what he’s saying. “What brings you to my side of town so early? We usually have these chats later, once your friends are gone and you need someone else to give you attention. I’m used to being your mistress.”

(my _mistress_ )

“Shut up, Rich,” Eddie says. “Don’t give me that shit.”

“Aw, Eds.” Then something behind Eddie seems to catch Richie’s attention. “The other two you hang out with just showed up. Now they’re all watching us. Wanna give them a show?”

Eddie is flustered.

(how does he always have something to say?)

(isn’t he ever speechless?)

“I’m not here to—“ Taking a deep breath, Eddie cannot make Richie’s eyes. He will not. If he does, he just knows he won’t be able to speak without looking like the human form of a tomato. “I just. I made you lunch.”

Suddenly, Richie ducks his head down to look at Eddie, and Eddie can no longer avoid Richie’s bothersome gaze. Somehow, Eddie sees millions of stories in Richie’s soft eyes. Eddie imagines they must look like a couple from a distance.

(don’t think like that you fucking loser)

“You made me lunch?” Richie asks finally, shocked. Eddie’s cheeks redden as he realizes the ridiculousness of the situation, but shrugs anyway. There’s a look on Richie’s face—that _look_. The one he so often gives but never explains.

“Well, yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Richie says, and he takes the lunchbox from Eddie’s meek hands. “I’m just not used to eating lunch, is all. Thanks a bunch, Eds.”

“Wanna eat with us?” Gesturing to his friends, Eddie somehow already knows the answer.

“I’m not so good with stuff like that.”

Eddie’s heard this before, so he bites his lip. “Socializing?”

“Yeah. Socializing. Not so much of a people person.”

“You seem like one to me,” Eddie prompts.

“What I mean is—people are not so much of a _me_ person.”

“What makes you think that?” Curiously, Eddie pushes for a better reason. Richie shifts on his feet—a nervous tick, Eddie’s noted—and glances at the picnic table where Eddie’s friends are sitting. “Because I like hanging out with you.”

(did I really just say that?)

Richie’s face turns red, his eyes widening. It is a sight Eddie has never seen before, but one he knows he will grow fond of. Then Richie’s smiling, widely, and looking down at his feet, uncharacteristically bashful.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, still avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

A smile explodes across Eddie’s face. “Okay. C’mon. Everyone’ll be glad to have you.” As Eddie turns to leave, he feels a gentle tug on his winter jacket.

“I just might not—“

“Talk,” Eddie finishes. He smiles gently. “It’s okay.”

(why does he only talk to me?)

“Thanks, Eds.”

They walk over to the picnic table and the other losers are already grinning. Mike even slams a hand on the table and shouts, “welcome to the losers club!”

While Richie says nothing, he allows a mute giggle to escape his mouth.

“Guys, this is Richie, and he’ll be eating lunch with us today,” Eddie says.

“Oh, we _know_ Richie,” Mike teases. He swoops his gaze over to Richie and gives him this stupid look. “I’m Mike, and let me just say—this guy never shuts up about you—no really, please get him under control.”

As Richie lets out a real, toothy laugh, Eddie reaches over and smacks Mike on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, you absolute jerk.”

“Aw, Ed, I’m just teasing,” Mike claims, but Eddie doesn’t miss the wink he sends in Richie’s direction.

“You’re all insufferable.” Eddie looks at Richie. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

“H-H-Hey, Richie. I’m Buh-Bill.” Bill grins at Richie, and Richie nods his head in reply, opening up his lunchbox. He sits next to Eddie on the bench, and Eddie’s sitting next to Bev, who just will _not_ stop bumping his knee. Every time she does it Eddie glares at her and she chuckles, stuffing her face with more chips.

“I’m Ben,” Ben says. “Glad to meet you.”

“I’m Stan,” Stan adds. “Looking forward to seeing if you’re as annoying as Eddie lets on.”

“S-Stan, d-d-don’t lie. You know w-we can’t even g-g-get Eddie to t-talk about R-R-Richie without turning r-red. He’s h-hardly one to c-c-c-complain.”

“I hate you all,” Eddie says, his cheeks reddening. “You’re all so fucking annoying.”

Richie sits quietly and opens up the lunch Eddie packed for him. As Eddie watches with a curious gaze, he ignores the immediate chatter of his friends. It doesn’t matter that they’re all here; in this moment, it seems to be only Richie and Eddie. And while Eddie has seen Richie eat before, he watches Richie take the first bite of his sandwich. Eddie knows he’s no cook, but Richie’s opinion matters to him, even on something as silly as this.

The way Richie holds his sandwich, cocking it slightly to the side in silent offer, makes Eddie’s heart melt. For someone with such a big presence, Richie has never seemed so small.

“No, it’s okay. I made one for myself, too.”

Shrugging, Richie continues eating and Eddie digs into his own meal.

…

(is he waiting inside?)

Eddie can’t stop pacing.

(I’m five minutes early)

Stopping in his place, Eddie is turned away from the short building. He takes a deep breath, a low whistle erupting from between his lips. “No, no, I can’t do this. What am I doing? Actually _what_ am I doing?”

“Dunno, Eds. What _are_ you doing?” A raspy voice says from behind. When Eddie turns he is nearly knocked off his feet. Richie is staring at him, amused, an unlit cigarette sitting on the pillow of his bottom lip. Eddie’s palms are clammy and he wonders how long Richie has been watching. “You gonna leave a guy waiting or are you gonna come inside? We just finished setting up.”

“We?”

Richie only tilts his head toward the front door of the building. “Come on. You’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?” Eddie does not want to address his nervousness, but it is out there. There is no way Richie can’t read it on his face. Eddie is nervous for two reasons: _Richie_ , and the cramped space of this building.

“Patsy’s isn’t so crowded today,” Richie says.

( _patsy’s_ )

“If you want to leave you can, but I need to go inside now.”

“I’m coming,” Eddie huffs, walking over to meet Richie. There is an exchange of stares before Richie laces his fingers with Eddie’s, and Eddie thinks perhaps he might faint. “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Richie says quietly, and there’s that _look_.

(how can I not be nervous when you look at me like that?)

“It’s just me, Eds.”

(oh, but its just _you_ )

“Yeah?” Richie says, and Eddie swallows his desire to kiss Richie. There are too many good things between them to ruin. “You okay, Eds?”

“I’m good,” Eddie says, and Richie is close to him suddenly, like they will kiss but Eddie knows they will not. “Let’s go inside.”

When they head inside, there are not so many people. Eddie thinks Richie somehow has something to do with that. Richie leads Eddie by the hand—nobody stares—to the front of the stage. There is a blue bass leaning against the wall, a microphone set up, and a few people standing on stage.

“I hope you like it,” Richie says. “I thought you would.”

(he _thought_ of me)

(he really thought of me?)

Then Richie leaves without another word. He gets on stage. He raises the bass and pulls the strap over his head, resting the instrument’s weight on his shoulders. Only when his lips brush the tip of the microphone does it seem to click to Eddie.

(he’s gonna sing)

(he’s gonna sing me a song)

(he’s gonna sing me a song and he _thought of me_ )

As Richie stares at Eddie from on stage, he winks and then grins widely when Eddie blushes. “This is an original.” Then there is the low hum of his bass, and the other instruments come into play. It is unlike anything Eddie has ever seen, or _heard_.

(when’s he gonna sing?)

But then he _does_.

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner… breathing in your dust.”

And he’s looking right at Eddie.

“I wanna be your Ford Cortina… I will never rust.”

(why the FUCK is it so hot in here?)

The way Richie moves to the rhythm of the song causes Eddie’s heart to skip one—two—three—four—an infinite amount of beats and Eddie doesn’t know if it makes it more enjoyable or more torturous that Richie is _staring_ at him. Neither boy looks away. Eddie is sure neither wants to. There is nothing better than this. Nothing better than this has ever existed.

As Richie’s curls bounce up and down and he finishes the last of the first verse, Eddie thinks his lungs might collapse.

(why the FUCK is he so hot)

“Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours—I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours…”

There is a burning in Eddie’s heart. He thinks he had a dream like this, once.

The concert plays on, and Richie continues to sing beautifully, more beautiful than Eddie thought possible. And the plucking of his fingers on the strings of his bass puts Eddie under a trance. And Eddie never wants this feeling to stop—this feeling of

(I have a crush on Richie)

wonder and astonishment—of not knowing what’ll happen next but not wanting to wait to find out.

(and I think he has a crush on me, too)

By the time the concert is finished, Eddie is flush and Richie is out of breath. Eddie thinks about other circumstances that could lead them to looking similarly. Richie nods his head at Eddie, gesturing to the door with a weak hand, before mouthing ‘five minutes’ and turning to his band mates to talk. Eddie waits outside after the concert. The cold air fills his lungs like a puff of his aspirator. Eddie has never felt more alive.

“Hey.” Richie comes up behind Eddie after Eddie’s been waiting a few minutes. When Richie smiles at Eddie and sticks a cigarette between his lips, Eddie thinks about how he has never been jealous of a cigarette before this. “How’d I do?”

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Eddie says, breathless.

“There’s a few things you don’t know about me,” Richie replies. And there is a certain plumpness to his lips that Eddie has never noticed before. “What’d you think of the show?”

“You were amazing—it was all amazing.”

“Yeah?” even lighting his cigarette, Richie will not tear his eyes away from Eddie. “Glad to know you think I’m amazing.”

(I think you’re a lot of things)

“Shut up, trashmouth,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t ever want Richie to stop talking. It is silent for a while, until Richie speaks up.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” Richie says suddenly, using his British Voice. “But I’ve got something for you. So my memory lives on.”

“Cut that shitty voice out, Rich.”

Richie laughs, then fumbles with something in his pocket. “Here, Eds.” Richie holds out a mix tape to Eddie, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat as he admires the decorative doodles done along the outside of the mix. There is a thin **1** written across a piece of tape stuck on the front. 

(he made me a mix tape)

“What?” Eddie’s eyes flicker up to meet Richie’s own. Richie is staring back at Eddie with a wide grin, and Eddie doesn’t even care about his eternal blush or sweaty hands. “You made me a mix?”

“Well, yeah. I know I’m pretty shitty with words so…” Richie shrugs, bashful again. It is an attractive look on him. “I hope you like it.”

( **1** )

(he called it **1** )

(there’s gonna be more)

“I’ll listen as soon as I get home,” Eddie says, beaming. There is a sparkle in his eyes, he can feel it, and he knows Richie can see it. As Eddie slips the tape into his coat pocket, Richie leans his head closer to Eddie and places a hand on his cheek, like he did the previous weekend. He’s so close yet somehow so far—he always is. But there is a special mix tape in Eddie’s pocket and a hand on his cheek, so it is okay. Things are okay, and Eddie’s heart is screeching.

“Really?” Richie asks, quietly.

“Yeah. I know I’ll love it.”

When Richie leans back, away from Eddie, Eddie isn’t so disappointed this time. He’s almost getting used to the affectionate gestures from Richie, because at least some affection is better than none.

“The order matters, by the way,” Richie says. “For the songs. I put them in a certain order.”

“Okay.” Eddie bites his lip and smiles, excited. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah.” The moon is almost down now, and Richie seems to take notice. He takes a deep breath before staring at Eddie. The wind blows Richie’s hair prettily, and his brown eyes seem to glow, gold, in the evening light. “I really should get going, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Right,” Eddie says. Richie always leaves before they’ve hung out too long. Before the sun sets. Suddenly, Eddie furrows his brows. “Wait, you never told me.”

“Huh?” Richie asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Why you only talk to me. You never told me. You said you would.”

“Oh.” Richie grins. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

“What?”

“I never wanted to talk to anybody before you. I thought that must’ve meant something, so I talked to you.”

(there’s gotta be more)

(he won’t tell me)

“Sure,” Eddie says.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Richie teases. “What can I do to earn Eddie Kaspbrak’s trust?”

(tell me the truth. that’s a good start)

“Nothing,” Eddie huffs. “You’ve got it. For now. Don’t lose it.”

“Ay, ay, Captain!” As Richie salutes Eddie, he turns away to leave. Then he stops and looks over his shoulder at Eddie one last time. “Read the writing on the cassette label.”

He leaves. Eddie waits until he is out of sight before opening the mix and reading the cassette label.

It reads: **_I think this is a better explanation_** _._

Eddie runs home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to richie's playlist at this link https://goo.gl/Mr4Z3n


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on tumblr @oaf

The songs are hard to read into, but Eddie tries. At least there’s one thing Eddie knows for sure: Richie _likes_ him. Why else would Richie put songs with lyrics like _you're the one running through my brain_ and _oh man you're making my crazy_ on the mix? Unless it’s some kind of sick joke, but Eddie tries not to think about that so much.

(its _not_ a joke)

(he holds my hand)

As he thinks it, Eddie feels foolish.

(anybody can hold a hand)

(but then why does it feel so different when he does it?)

Eddie listens to the mix before bed, mostly, with headphones accompanied by sweaty palms. When he dreams, he dreams of the songs, what they could mean…of Richie. Eddie had never known that having a crush could be so wonderful, that he could feel so giddy and upbeat. The low melodies of Richie’s mix tape helps aid the lightness of Eddie’s heart. At times Eddie feels so light he thinks perhaps he may fly away.

Richie often makes Eddie feel like that.

They’re hanging out today. The thought of it makes Eddie’s insides feel warm. Eddie often wonders if Richie feels the same way when he thinks of him…because he thinks of him. Eddie knows this for sure; he said it.

(“I hope you like it. I thought you would.”)

When Eddie approaches Richie outside of Derry’s local diner, Richie smiles widely and immediately stomps out the cigarette he’s smoking. There is a fluffiness to his curly hair that had not been there before, and his eye bags do not look as prominent as usual. Perhaps because it is winter vacation, he is getting proper sleep. Eddie hopes so.

“Hey,” Richie says, and Eddie wishes he could kiss Richie’s next words away. Looking at him in the afternoon light is too pretty. “You’re _late_ , Eddie Spaghetti. Would’ve had to eat without ya.”

“Shut it, trashmouth.” Eddie glances at his watch. “I’m five minutes early.”

“But I just couldn’t wait to see you, Eds! You’re always leaving me waiting and shit.” Richie chuckles and slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie doesn’t hate it so much. “This whole flirting thing is cute but let’s hurry the fuck up; I want my waffles.”

( _flirting_ )

“Lead the way, then,” Eddie retorts, unable to hold back his smile.

“All right, I get it. You like me being in charge. I’ll remember that.” As Eddie’s cheeks redden, Richie takes his arm off of Eddie’s shoulders and approaches the diner entrance. “After you.”

The diner is anything but crowded. Still, Richie waves to the regular waitress, a friendly smile on his face, and escorts himself and Eddie to their favorite booth all the way toward the back of the restaurant. As soon as they sit down, the waitress comes over and hands them two menus. Richie is quick to shake his head. Eddie can feel Richie’s leg bouncing up and down underneath the table—something he’s noticed Richie does quite often.

“One order of waffles—extra maple syrup on the side, please. And one order of chicken tenders. Thanks!” Richie says, and Eddie tries not to blush at the fact that Richie remembers his order. They’ve only been out together to eat three times now, but every time feels like the first to Eddie. The two have been hanging out relatively often, so often that Eddie gave Richie his home phone number. Only so that they can make plans; if Richie called Eddie on the phone to _talk_ Eddie isn’t sure he would be able to get any words out. He would probably choke then and there. The thought makes Eddie shift in his seat and swallow tightly.

(I’m so fucking lame)

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asks, stealing Eddie from his thoughts.

“Yeah. And don’t call me that.”

“But it’s so cute! A cute nickname for a cute boy!” Eddie can’t help but smile, but he still makes sure to kick Richie’s leg under the table. “Hey!”

“Don’t call me cute.”

(say it again)

“Nothing wrong with stating facts,” Richie replies smartly, twiddling his fork. Then his eyes meet Eddie’s again and his mind seems to travel elsewhere. “See any good movies lately?”

“On Friday my friends and I watched ET.”

“I think I’ve heard about that one,” Richie states, nodding to himself.

“It’s pretty popular, so you probably have,” Eddie says, and he breaks out into a smile. “I think you would like it.”

“And why’s that, Eds?” Richie looks dreamy.

“Well, for starters, you look a lot like ET.” Eddie immediately erupts into childish giggles; his body twists into itself and he folds up into the booth as he shakes with laughter. Trying to keep a straight face, Richie reaches across the table and flicks Eddie on the head.

“Fuck you, Eds! That’s the alien, isn’t it? I know it’s the alien! _Wow_ , you’re a real dick!” Richie says, laughing now, too.

(but you _like_ me)

“Fucking,” Richie curses. Then Richie looks at Eddie with a certain something in his eyes

(that _look_ )

and Eddie thinks he might just melt. The curls of Richie’s hair fall over his face as he shakes with laughter. His brown eyes almost look amber gold in this fluorescent lighting.

“I got something on my face or am I just pretty?” Richie teases, smiling. Neither boy is laughing now. Eddie wonders what would come of them if he were honest.

“Yeah right. You _wish_.”

“Wish you would call me pretty? Well, Eds, glad to report that’s the _one_ thing you’ve ever been right about.”

(how can he just _say_ that?)

(how does he not _die_?)

Biting his tongue, Eddie almost does it—almost allows the word _pretty_ to slip past his lips and float in the air between them. It is almost there, out in the open, and Richie is looking at Eddie like he knows what’s coming—lots of blushing and a stuttered compliment—and he won’t wipe that sappy grin off his face, not for the world. Once again, they are so close to what could be, but simultaneously so far. Eddie can’t do it; he won’t.

(because what if it’s all a joke?)

(he made me a mix tape and played me a song and he looks at me like _that_ but what if its all just a joke?)

The waitress slams their food down on the table and they both break their stare. With blushing cheeks, Eddie thanks the waitress and makes room on the table for his chicken tenders. With the usual smile, Richie thanks her graciously and settles his plate in front of him. There is a brief moment of silence where Eddie just examines Richie. It’s only for a split second, but Richie hovers a fork above his food as he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he digs in. Perhaps Eddie did not notice this at lunch during school, but it is something he has picked up on at the diner.

“Why do you that?” Eddie asks, curiously, not rudely. As Richie’s eyes meet his, there is a piece of waffle sticking out from between his lips. There is syrup stuck to Richie’s mouth and Eddie for some reason does _not_ gag. “I always notice you do that thing before you eat.”

“What thing?” Richie asks after swallowing his food. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Eddie.”

(but you do)

“I don’t do one absurd thing,” Richie says, British. “Never have in my life. I’m anything but absurd, to be honest with you.”

“Yeah right,” Eddie shoots back. “You’re the most absurd person I’ve ever met.”

(but somehow the most wonderful)

“Is that supposed to be an insult? What’s so bad about being absurd?” Richie asks, talking normally. “I think it’s pretty neat; you’re absurd.”

“Am not,” Eddie says.

“Are too.” Richie winks and Eddie bites his lip. Reaching for his cutlery, Eddie starts to cut into his food. “See, _that’s_ absurd. Who the hell eats chicken tenders with a fork and knife?”

There is more small talk, more chuckling, more feet brushing underneath the booth table. There are coy smiles and flirtatious eyes, and racing hearts, and perhaps something less than love in the air. It is only when Richie brings up singing that Eddie is overeager to engage in real conversation.

“I perform at Patsy’s every once in a while,” Richie admits. They are both done eating now. “When I first moved here it was the only place where I really felt like I could breathe. Everyone there is just so cool with everything. They have girls that fuck girls and guys that fuck guys and people that fuck everyone. No questions or any shit. Nobody cares.”

Eddie had never known a place like that existed. Richie saying _fuck_ in the same sentence as _boys_ makes Eddie feel hot all over, but he tries not to let it show. He hopes Richie doesn’t notice, but if he does he doesn’t say anything.

“How long have you been singing and playing guitar?” Eddie asks, genuinely interested. He wishes he could learn everything about Richie. He also wishes he didn’t have to play the waiting game with him; it could never be just one straight answer. With Richie Eddie had to learn about him piece by piece, like a puzzle.

“Since I was, like, ten.”

“Why did you start playing?”

“My uncle got me a guitar for my birthday. It was just something to keep me busy, I guess.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Keep you busy?”

“My parents work a lot,” Richie explains, then he smiles upon seeing the disheartened look on Eddie’s face. “No biggie.”

“Where do you live around?” Eddie asks. He realizes how creepy he sounds immediately, and mentally face palms. Richie only lets out a hearty laugh.

“Wow, Eds. You move fast for such a little thing.”

Perhaps if Eddie weren’t so embarrassed he would blush.

“I’m not so little,” Eddie huffs, but he knows he is; he’s shorter than every single one of his friends _and_ his own mother.

“There’s this white house on Riverbend Road,” Richie says vaguely.

“The one with three stories? You live there?” Eddie asks, intrigued. Richie nods, but won’t meet Eddie eyes.

“Yup,” Richie says. “That’s where I live.”

“Awesome,” Eddie breathes. “That place is so nice.”

“It’s even nicer on the inside,” Richie comments. “Maybe one day after our lunch date I can bring you back to mine and we can get busy.”

“You need to stop with these comments,” Eddie states. Now he is the one not making eye contact.

“Why should I? You look so cute when you’re blushing.” Richie’s chin is resting on the palm of his hand and Eddie wants to hit him over the head—what with calling him cute every five seconds. Apparently taking notice of the look on Eddie’s face, Richie lets out a low chuckle and holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep myself under control. It’ll just be so hard, Eds. You drive me wild.”

_Making me crazy… really driving me mad…_

(stop thinking about that dumb song)

“So—have you been writing your own songs for a long time?” Eddie asks, not wanting to seem too interested when he is in fact _dying_ to know. He takes a sip of his water to avoid Richie’s gaze, but Richie doesn’t seem flustered or at all stumped by the question.

“Not really. I only started a couple years ago. I like songwriting,” Richie replies.

“You’re good at it,” Eddie says.

(like _really_ good)

“Thanks, Eds.” Grinning, Richie gestures to the waitress for the check. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“Dunno. Think of somewhere nice I can take ya,” Richie says.

They split the check once the waitress comes over, and they thank her again for the good service. Then Richie rises from his seat and takes Eddie’s hand, pulling Eddie up, too. As they walk outside, their hands are brushing so gently Eddie thinks the slightest of movements would wreck it. There are a few sets of eyes on the two moonstruck boys but Eddie does not worry; the weight of Richie’s hand is a promise, and he could never forget that.

When they are outside of the restaurant Richie does not let go of Eddie’s hand, not even to pull a cigarette from his pack. Richie struggles obviously in using one hand to open his box of cigarettes, tug one out, stick it between his lips, and to light it, but he still doesn’t let go. Eddie watches Richie as he takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke in the opposite direction of where they’re standing.

“I got something on my face or am I just that irresistible?” Richie asks. Perhaps there is the slightest smirk on his lips.

(god if you’re gonna hold my hand all the time just kiss me)

(you wanna be mine then fucking _kiss_ me)

“You’re the furthest thing from irresistible,” Eddie says, scoffing.

“Sure,” Richie says. Then he takes another drag of his cigarette.

There is more staring and more clattering hearts. Eddie wants Richie to drop his cigarette and kiss him on the open mouth. The way Richie is looking at Eddie makes it look like he is considering. But he does not do this, not at all; Richie slips his cigarette between his index and middle finger and settles his hands on either side of Eddie’s face. The cigarette is not touching Eddie

(thank god)

and Richie looks hesitant.

            (you can kiss me)

            (really kiss me)

            (I’m tired of just thinking about it)

Nothing.

Richie pulls away. Eddie is used to it and is upset by that fact.

“Wanna walk while I smoke?” Richie asks, already taking off. Without replying, Eddie simply follows. As they begin to walk back in the direction of Eddie’s house, Eddie notices a group of teenagers across the street. They’re eyeing him and Richie strangely. While Richie supposedly takes no notice, Eddie is quick to put distance between them both. This grabs Richie’s attention; he turns his head and pans his eyes across Eddie’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and Eddie can’t think of anything to say.

All he can do is look at the teenagers, and wonder what they must think, and Eddie feels lightheaded or like he needs his aspirator.

(why won’t they stop looking at us?)

One of the girls leans closer to her friends, whispering. The two girls giggle and one of the boys they’re with mimes sticking a hand down his throat. Now Richie seems to catch on. Eddie sees him look at the other teenagers, an undetectable something in his eyes. Richie flicks his cigarette to the ground as he crosses the street, heading toward the teenagers.

Eddie has gotten this far without a bad encounter in the company of Richie, and he is desperate for it to stay this way, so he pulls on Richie’s coat pocket as a silent plea. “It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though it isn’t. “Don’t say anything, Rich, _please._ ”

“It’s not fine, Eds. If they wanna talk shit they can say it to our faces.”

“They really _can’t_.” Richie only speeds up. “Richie, _please._ ”

“Gentlemen,” Richie says, finally having approached the group of teenagers. “Ladies.” The group pulls to a stop and Eddie immediately takes his hand from Richie’s coat. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me and my friend here.”

It is the tallest boy that speaks. His hair is short and blond and is perhaps slicked up by too much hair gel. Eddie wonders who told him that look is a good idea.

“We couldn’t help but look,” the guy says, and he won’t wipe the shit-eating grin from his mouth. Eddie wants to spit in his face but also cower. “We didn’t know anybody besides his loser friends would be willing to hang out with him after what happened.”

(please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up please don’t bring it up)

“After what happened?” Richie asks. There is a calm look on his face, like he is not afraid to dig his fists from his pockets and punch this guy square in the jaw.

“Oh, right. You came just this year,” the guy says, laughing. Then he looks back at his friends.

(please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him please don’t tell him)

“Last year—“

Richie socks him. The guy flies onto the ground, holding onto his mouth for dear life. Eddie is both flattered and mortified. Richie is quick to grab Eddie by the hand and he jerks them both in the opposite direction of the group. And then they’re running, and running, and there are screams after the both of them—accompanied by angry stomping. They’re being chased, Eddie realizes, and he thinks he might collapse on the sidewalk from an asthma attack. But he doesn’t stop running, not even when his lungs are gonna give out, because Richie is holding his hand and something tells Eddie he won’t let go no matter what.

An unknown amount of minutes pass and they are further from Eddie’s house than Eddie has ever been. Trees and bushes surround them and Eddie’s first thought is that if they kissed nobody would see them here.

“They’re gone, “ Richie says. They have both slowed down to a walk by now. Eddie is quick to take out his inhaler. He really doesn’t know how he made it so long. Monitoring his breathing, Eddie knows Richie’s eyes are on him. It is easy to feel.

“Why did you punch him?” Eddie asks, unable to stop himself. “Didn’t you wanna know what he was gonna say?”

(thank god you punched him)

“He couldn’t have been saying anything good.” Richie shrugs. “And I don’t wanna hear him say shit about you.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, and he doesn’t want to ever look away from Richie. The expression on Richie’s face makes Eddie want to be held. There is no smile on Richie’s plump lips, but there is the wind in his dark curls. Eddie has never wanted to kiss Richie more than he does now.

Like there are things Eddie doesn’t know about Richie, perhaps there are things Richie doesn’t know about Eddie.

“We should go,” Richie says, looking up at the sky.

(we don’t have to)

“Walk me home?” Eddie asks. There are stars in Richie’s eyes when he says okay. There is blush across Eddie’s cheeks when he walks closely beside Richie. As they walk, they don’t say so much. There is only the occasional snarky comment or mom joke from Richie and the usual retort from Eddie. Neither boy minds the silence. Eddie wonders how Richie does not considering he is always surrounded by it.

When they pass by the big brown house, Richie does not look at it, but Eddie does. There are no children out front, playing in the snow, and no sound of a bass drifting from the upstairs window to the outside. But the lights are on. People must be home. The sun is almost completely down now.

“Think I can leave you here? I’ve got to be home,” Richie says.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “I’ll see you later.”

“You sure will,” Richie replies, grinning. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

(he’ll _call_ me)

(I _love_ when he calls me)

“See you, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that, trashmouth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie chuckles. “Bye.”

As Eddie waves goodbye, he starts walking in the direction of his house. He does not hear Richie walking behind him, so he knows Richie must be seeing him off. It is only when Eddie reaches the corner does he look back at Richie. Richie’s still standing there, lighting a cigarette and staring. Eddie waves again. Richie just grins harder. When Eddie turns the corner he stops walking, waiting for a few seconds before looking back at Richie.

Richie is not standing in the street watching Eddie anymore. He is walking in the opposite direction. He is not walking in the direction of Riverbend Road; he is walking up the stairs of the big brown house and digging a pair of keys from his jacket pockets. He is unlocking the door and taking off his boots outside. He is entering the house and shutting the door.

(“I’ve got to be home.”)

(he doesn’t babysit there)

(he lives there)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on my tumblr @oaf!   
> hope u like this chapter xox

It is two days to Christmas. Richie lies and Eddie doesn’t know why. Richie disappears and Eddie doesn’t know where to—and Eddie would call but Richie’s only got Eddie’s phone number, not the other way around. It has been days without word from Richie, and all Eddie can do is hope he is okay. Passing by the big brown house is enough, Eddie supposes; when he is walking down the street he stares up toward the second story window, the one from which music erupts. And Eddie just knows. Richie plays bass from his bedroom in the big brown house. He wants to separate himself, for whatever reason, doesn’t want to talk to Eddie, or hang out.

It is fine, Eddie tells himself. He has other friends

(just not other— _whatever the hell we are_ ).

“You don’t have to sit there and pretend to be doing work.” Mike’s voice pulls Eddie from his thoughts. “I know you’ve just been staring at your notebook for the past half hour.”

The two boys met up at Eddie’s house at ten this morning to do some schoolwork together, and even now at one PM, Eddie has not completed one assignment. Mike eyes Eddie, a sympathetic smile tracing his lips before he lets out a deep breath and leans back in the desk chair. Eddie watches him curiously, not wanting to say anything and not really having anything in particular to say.

“Okay,” Mike says, and he grabs Eddie’s notebook from Eddie’s hands. Frowning, Eddie is ready to snap, but Mike cuts him off by shushing him. “You’re sad your boyfriend is ignoring you, so _do_ something about it! Don’t waste time sitting here staring at math problems!”

Eddie glares at Mike, cheeks burning. “Richie is _not_ my boyfriend.”

(but I wish he was)

Mike stares at Eddie, eyes dull. Mike rises to his feet and pulls Eddie up from his bed by his hands. Immediately, Mike turns to Eddie’s bedroom door, leaving Eddie, dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks.

“We’re gonna go get the others, and then we’re gonna get Richie.”

Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to his other. “Richie won’t hang out past dark, so.”

“Well, then we better act fast.” Mike smiles. “Come on, Ed.”

As Mike exits Eddie’s bedroom, Eddie thinks perhaps it would not be a bad thing to allow his best friend to drag him on some pointless adventure. Pointless because Eddie believes there is absolutely _no_ way Richie will end up hanging out with the lot of them. At times, even hanging out with Eddie seems to be a lot for Richie. But Richie has been sleeping more recently… maybe he will have the energy.

(please)

“Are you coming!?” comes Mike’s shout from the floor below. Eddie sighs and heads downstairs, disregarding all his schoolwork.

“Yeah, asshole!” Eddie calls back, grinning a little. “I’m coming!”

…

It is easy to collect the other losers. They are all together within twenty minutes, and Eddie is reminded of how much he loves his friends. There is comfort in Beverly’s beaming smile, in the depth of Mike’s dimples, and in Ben’s clammy palms, in Stanley’s sassy jokes and Bill’s raspy laughter. With the other losers, Eddie is calm. It is only when they are approaching the big brown house that Eddie’s heart begins to speed up and he wants to turn away.

“Guys, maybe we shouldn’t,” Eddie says, stopping in his place. “He didn’t even tell me he lived here—I just guessed and I’m probably wrong. Guys, no guys, seriously—“ the others pay Eddie no mind and continue walking. Eddie’s voice quivers with his next few words. “He’s probably not even home!” Nobody turns around. Beverly is the only one who glances at Eddie, but only to wave him toward them.

“Eddie, calm down! His parents’ll be glad their son’s got some friends.”

Finally, Eddie speeds to reach the front of where his friends are. They are all right off the lawn of the big brown house, and Eddie is grateful there are no children playing in the snow to stare at them all questionably.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, crossing his arms. “I’ll ring the bell, but only if you guys wait here, and no pulling annoying shit. Don’t make faces behind me or anything.”

A sound startles the lot of losers, and Eddie whips around so quickly he gets a neck cramp. Richie is standing on the porch of the big brown house lighting a cigarette. He has to have noticed Eddie and his friends; they’re right within his sight, but Richie doesn’t do anything to confirm Eddie’s suspicions. He doesn’t even look at Eddie; he just stands leaning against the porch fencing of his home, cigarette sleeping on his lip and smoke dancing in the air.

“Go talk to him,” Stan says to Eddie. “We didn’t walk all this way not to hang out with him.”

“I agree,” Beverly pipes up, giggling. “Go talk to him. We’ll wait here and let you know how you’re doing.”

Eddie faces them all and shakes his head. “No way.”

“Definitely,” Stan says. “We’ll offer constructive criticism from a distance.”

While Eddie is just about to give Stan a piece of his mind, Mike slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Don’t worry! Go see if he wants to hang out. Ben, Bill, and I will keep these two in line.”

Ben grins at Eddie. Bill nods in agreement, though by the way Stan is looking at him, Eddie isn’t sure who’s side Bill is on.

“G-Go get him, t-t-t-tiger.”

“Ha, ha,” Eddie says. “I’ll be right back.”

“Good luck,” Beverly sings.

Eddie approaches Richie on light feet. Taking a drag from his cigarette, Richie slides his gaze over to Eddie, unsurprised. Eddie does not go up on the porch; he simply stands from the bottom of the staircase leading up to the door. He can see Richie fine like this.

“Hey,” Eddie says.

“You stalking me now?” Richie asks, voice low and joking. He comes down from the porch to meet Eddie. There is tiredness in his eyes, and his dark hair is more unruly than usual, spiraling up and out in childish curls. “And you brought your friends to stalk me, too. I have quite the fan club.”

(cut the bullshit)

(where have you been?)

“Wanna hang out?” Eddie asks. “We’re gonna go to Bill’s house.”

Richie sucks on his cigarette and blows the smoke upward. Then he looks at Eddie and sighs, averting his eyes to his shoes. He seems serious, now. “Sorry I haven’t called.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, then he wonders if it is. “Are you okay?”

Richie visibly clenches his jaw. He flicks his cigarette into the snow and shoves his hands in his pockets, his nicotine appetite apparently dead. “I’ve been sleeping. I sleep better during the day, but I’ve had to make exceptions for you, and now I’m just catching up on my sleep.”

“Exceptions for me, huh?” Eddie teases. It is the first time he feels comfortable teasing (flirting?), and Richie seems to notice; he stands up tall, smiling down at Eddie.

“Exceptions just for my Eddie Spaghetti.” Neither looks away and Eddie wonders what his friends are thinking. He is glad they aren’t making a fool of him. “How far does Bill live?”

“Maybe ten minutes away, tops,” Eddie says.

“M’kay. We gonna watch movies?”

“If you want.”

“As long as it’s not ET.”

Eddie grins widely. “It’s a good movie!”

“You told me I looked like him!” Richie laughs. “And I doubt he’s even remotely cute. He’s an _alien_.”

“Aliens can be cute,” as soon as Eddie says this, he blushes furiously, but refuses to look away from Richie. Richie only bites his lip, still grinning.

“Hey, lovebirds!” comes Stan’s voice, and Eddie swallows hard. “This is cute and all, but we’re fucking _freezing_ over here!”

“It is pretty cold!” Ben shouts. Mike’s laughter echoes in the distance.

“Sorry,” Eddie says to Richie. Richie only shakes his head and makes no comment.

( _love_ birds)

“Wanna go?” Eddie asks.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Richie replies, and together they walk toward the others. When Richie and Eddie reach the group of teenagers there is a brief moment of silence; perhaps the others do not know what to say, and Eddie does not really either. “To Bill’s?” is all that comes out of Eddie’s mouth.

“To Bill’s!” Stan cheers, and he tugs Bill close. There is a clumsy smile on Bill’s lips, a new kind of smile exclusively shown around Stan, and sometimes even Mike. Eddie does not fail to take notice. He thinks Richie does not either.

“Welcome back,” Ben says, bumping Richie. Richie nods along, grinning politely and searching Eddie’s eyes, for what Eddie isn’t so sure. “We’re all glad to have you. Specially, Eddie—he missed you big time.”

“Ben!” Eddie chokes, tone scolding. “Could you— _not?_ ”

“Oh,” Ben says, like he has suddenly realized something. Then he blushes and smiles so hard his eyes squint. “Sorry.”

“Don’t mind Ben,” Beverly cuts in, coming up between Ben and Richie. “He’s a real sweetie and doesn’t think about what he says sometimes. How are you, Richie? We haven’t spoken in a while.” She smiles like she’s said something real funny, and Richie only shrugs and lets out a low chuckle.

“Fine,” he answers, and the rate at which heads turn is alarming. All eyes are on Richie as he continues to walk, face no different than it was seconds before his reply. There is a giddy feeling that fills Eddie’s stomach, one of happiness and pride. Despite everybody watching Richie, eagerly waiting to see if more will spill from his chapped lips, all Richie does is turn to face Eddie. And he smiles toothily, like they’re alone, like they’re a part of other losers but somehow still _apart_. It makes Eddie’s chest heavy. He thinks his heart may weigh thirteen times more than the rest of his body.

“Yeah?” Beverly is the first one to break the shocked silence. “That’s great.”

The rest of the walk to Bill’s house brings rambunctious chatter from all the losers and unsurprising silence from Richie. But nobody minds; him saying _fine_ was better than him saying nothing at all. When they finally arrive, they raid Bill’s living room and Bill apologizes to his dad, saying they’re all going to occupy the space for a little while. Zach Denbrough doesn’t mind so much and excuses himself (and his newspaper) to his bedroom, upstairs.

“M-My f-f-family is still home. S-So keep it down,” Bill says, plopping on the couch. The other losers (and Richie, though he seemed to be quickly becoming one of them) followed suit, getting comfortable on the couch and on the floor. Eddie takes a seat on the floor, much to his dismay; Beverly, Ben, Bill, Stan, _and_ Mike, all conveniently squeeze onto the couch. Mike smiles at Eddie as he sinks into his seat on the couch cushion.

“You okay, Eds?” Mike asks.

“I’m great,” Eddie says through clenched teeth. His whole body feels hot as Richie sits directly next to him, leaving little to no breathing room for their legs. As their knees brush Eddie feels his whole face light on fire. “So, a movie?” he suggests, wanting to bring the attention away from his blushing face.

“ _Sixteen Candles_!” Beverly cheers.

“I second that,” Ben adds.

“Sounds good to me,” Mike says.

“Same here,” Stan says, and Bill nods along. All eyes shoot over to Eddie and Richie. Richie purses his lips and stares at Eddie in question. It occurs to Eddie that Richie has not told anybody else he’s never really seen any films at all.

(oh)

“That’s okay,” Eddie answers. His gaze never strays from Richie’s eyes. “We’re fine with that.”

Richie nods.

After Stan sticks the VHS tape into the player, all of them sink into their seats and avert their attention to the screen. The room is silent other than the film, other than the sound of Eddie’s pounding heartbeat; he’s so sure everybody else can hear it. Richie watches the screen, eyes trained carefully, much like he’s so commonly trained them on Eddie. Eddie cannot stop looking at Richie. He is sure Richie knows.

(I’ve seen this movie a million times)

(how could I pay attention to the screen when _he’s_ here?)

And like Richie can read Eddie’s mind, Eddie feels a weight across his fingers splayed across the floorboards. Eddie’s eyes shift from Richie’s features to his hand. Their hands, Richie’s resting on Eddie’s, are tucked beneath Richie’s leg as he rests his chin on his knee. Intertwined hands remain hidden from the others. They stay like that for the entirety of the movie, until the credits roll and sweat has slept across Eddie’s facedown palms.

When Bill turns the light on, they pull away.

“It is now quarter to four o’clock,” Ben states. “And I’ve got to be home.”

“Me too,” Beverly adds.

With that, Eddie and Richie stand up, as well. Eddie sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, stealing a quick glance at Mike’s suggestive eyes before announcing his leave (and inevitably, Richie’s, too).

“Us, too,” Eddie speaks, and Richie nods along. “See you guys,” Eddie says to Bill, Stan, and Mike, who all remain snug on the sofa.

“Call me later,” Mike replies, and then to Eddie’s horror, Mike _winks_.

“Yeah,” Eddie says sharply. Him, Beverly, Ben, and Richie all head for the door, tugging on their winter coats and gloves before seeing themselves out. Richie shoots Bill one final look.

“Thanks,” Richie mutters in regards to Bill, so quietly Eddie thinks nobody must hear.

When they are outside, Ben and Beverly huddle up, perhaps unintentionally. Beverly exhales deeply before fumbling with her coat pocket and retrieving a pack of cigarettes. She lights up and even offers one to Richie, who just shakes his head and smiles his thanks.

“We’re headed this way,” Beverly says, and she gestures down the street opposite to where Richie and Eddie live. Eddie isn’t sure why she and Ben are going that way, but he says nothing about it.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and as if Richie’s habits have been implemented onto him, Eddie looks up at the sky and notices how it is just beginning to get dark out. The winter sun rests early, he remembers. “We should get going, too. It’s almost dark.”

Richie stares at Eddie with heavy eyes.

“See you on Christmas, if not tomorrow,” Ben says politely to Eddie. “It was nice hanging out with you, Richie.”

“Definitely,” Eddie replies.

“See ya, Ed! You too, Rich!” Beverly blows the smoke from her cigarette away from their group and leaves the stick to rest on her bottom lip. “Bye.”

Beverly and Ben leave, and then it is just Richie and Eddie. Somehow it feels like it should be like this all the time, just the two of them.

“I had fun,” Richie says. “Thanks for hunting me down.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “I’ve gotta say though, it’s weird to not hear you speak all the time—considering how much of a trashmouth you are around me.”

This makes Richie crack a smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Eddie asks. He wants a positive answer but knows he will not receive one.

“I dunno what tomorrow brings,” Richie replies smoothly, like he has a prepared answer to everything Eddie says. “I try not to think about the future.”

Eddie’s heart falls a bit, inexplicably.

( _oh_ )

“But for you, I’ll try,” Richie says. Then there’s _that_ look.

(what the fuck does that mean?)

(tell me what any of this means)

“What about on Christmas?” Eddie asks, a pang of bravery embedded him. “If I said I wanted to see you on Christmas, could I?”

The thought of spending Christmas with Richie makes Eddie feel like he’s floating again. Holding Richie’s hand on Christmas would be more than enough. It has become easy for Eddie to find softness in the calloused hands of Richie Tozier. He wonders if Richie knows he feels this way.

“Yeah,” Richie says. Eddie thinks there is sadness in Richie’s tone. “I’ll come see you.”

Part of Eddie doesn’t believe Richie.

(what if he forgets?)

(what if he decides he doesn’t wanna see me?)

“Promise?” Eddie asks. He feels a little embarrassed, but Richie grabs Eddie’s hand and rubs circles into the skin of his palm.

“Yeah, I promise,” Richie replies, voice like silk.

Now there is not only a promise in Richie’s hand, but in his words.

…

Christmas day comes quickly. Eddie receives a few gifts from his mother, as per usual, and he thanks her graciously like she expects him to. All morning there is no phone call from Richie, so Eddie hangs out with his other friends for a few hours, until it is almost dark out. They have a snowball fight and those who celebrate Christmas exchange cards and small thoughtful gifts. By the time everybody is heading home, Eddie is walking by himself and purposefully passes by Richie’s house to inspect. The upstairs lights are off but the downstairs lights are on, and it seems as though it is a full house. Eddie wonders how many siblings Richie has.

When Eddie’s own house is within view, he immediately notices somebody sitting on the porch. The person is wearing a big overcoat, lots of layers, and has a mess of curly dark hair. As Eddie approaches Richie, his heartbeat speeds up and his mouth runs dry. It seems as though Eddie has forgotten even how to speak.

(he was waiting for me)

“You came,” Eddie says, breathless, and he knows the blinds are up and if his mother peeked out the window she would see the two of them, but regardless Eddie wants Richie to grab his cheeks and kiss him like his life depends on it, because Eddie thinks his might.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Richie chuckles, and he rests his hand on Eddie’s cheek once Eddie is close enough. Leaning into the warmth of Richie’s hand, Eddie knows a kiss is all he wants this Christmas. “I don’t break promises, Eds.”

Eddie hopes Richie doesn’t break hearts, either.

“I don’t know so much about Christmas,” Richie says, removing his hand from Eddie’s cheeks. “But I made you this.” Digging a hand into his pocket, Eddie watches with careful eyes as Richie pulls out a friendship bracelet. It is woven with different colors

(a _rainbow_ )

and Eddie loves it so much he thinks he might cry.

“It’s pretty ugly.” Richie laughs. “You don’t have to wear it.”

“No!” Eddie says, overeager. He takes the bracelet from Richie and pulls back his coat sleeve to see how it fits against his thin wrists. “I love it. Thanks. Can you tie it on?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, surprised. There is the slightest tint of pink puddled across his freckled cheeks. As he ties the bracelet onto Eddie’s wrist, Eddie remembers he has something for Richie. “There.”

“I made you a card,” Eddie is quick to say, because he’s so nervous he just wants to get the words out. He pulls the card from his pocket and hands it over to Richie, who looks startled. “I hope you like it.”

Richie takes the card slowly, eyes never straying from the simple design of the front. Eddie decorated the card with music notes and hearts—two things that often remind him of Richie.

“T-Thanks,” Richie says finally. Eddie wonders if Richie is not so used to receiving. Richie smiles bashfully suddenly, and opens the card up to read what’s inside.

While making the card, Eddie wasn’t so sure what to write. So he spoke a language that he knew Richie would understand. Printed across the inside of Eddie’s Christmas card are song lyrics from the playlist Richie gave Eddie. Eddie knows Richie will know what it means. It’s almost like a poem.

_And oh, you could be loved._

_Show me your world._

_Nothing's gonna hurt you baby; as long as you're with me you'll be just fine._

_You’re the one running through my brain._

_But still I could always be whatever you wanted._

When Richie looks up at Eddie, there is glassiness to his eyes that was not there before. Without another word, there are arms around Eddie’s body, a chest pressed to his, and intertwined bodies. It is a hug. Richie is _hugging_ Eddie—like his life depends on it, like he wouldn’t let go for the world, like nothing could tear them apart.

And perhaps nothing could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on my tumblr @oaf

Winter break is almost over; school starts up again in a few days, and it is finally January. It has nearly been a full month since Richie arrived to Derry, and there is still not so much known about him. Eddie tries, but Richie does not deliver. Eddie is with Mike now, as they so always are—together. It’s always been this way, ever since the two met. Eddie feels bad for not spending so much time with Mike lately. It’s hard to spend time with his best friend when Eddie so desperately wants to spend time with his _whateverRichieis._ Eddie does not have a clue what Richie is, and he’s so used to it now, it’s almost as if there’s a word for it.

Mike and Eddie are at Mike’s house, stuffed in his cramped bedroom. It’s twelve in the afternoon. Eddie is only half listening to what Mike is saying, but there is a smack on his shoulder that shakes him back into reality.

“What!” Eddie yells, rubbing his shoulder. Mike rolls his eyes.

“You’re not even _listening_ ,” Mike says.

“Yeah, _I am_ ,” Eddie shoots back. He hates bickering with Mike. Eddie is just annoyed, annoyed for so many stupid things and is childishly taking it out on Mike.

“Well then, what did I just say?”

Eddie parts his lips to reply, but Mike cuts him off before he can sputter some dumb excuse.

“See?” Mike says. “You’d think my best friend would be happy for me getting my first kiss.”

Eddie leans forward, eyebrow quirked. “Your _what?_ ”

“Told you. You weren’t listening.”

“Shut up and tell me who kissed you!”

(I can’t believe Mike got his first kiss before me)

(I can’t believe I’m the last of my friends to be kissed)

Eddie is annoyed and mad. He knows he should feel neither toward Mike but he is unable to stop himself.

(I really am a loser)

“Do you really wanna know?” Mike asks, smirking. “I’m not sure that you really wanna know.” Eddie shoots daggers into Mike’s eyes, his nostrils flaring. “Fine, fine!” Mike laughs. “It was Stan… then Bill.”

(I can’t believe Mike got his first kiss _twice_ )

(double loser)

“What? You jealous?” Mike asks, scooting closer to Eddie. Then he puckers his lips silly and Eddie pushes him away. Eddie feels mad at Mike just because Mike got kissed first, just because Eddie _hasn’t_ been kissed. Just because Richie and Eddie have been flirting for almost three weeks, been holding hands, been exchanging _looks_ , and Mike _still_ got kissed first. “Don’t worry, Ed, if you ask nicely I’m sure the three of us would line up to get kissed by you.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and he rises to his feet. Suddenly he needs to leave or he’ll scream. “I have to go.”

“What?” Mike says. “Eddie, I was just kidding. Are you seriously mad?”

“No,” Eddie says, standing by the door now. His fingers are pressed against the wooden door as he quickly thinks of an excuse. “I just have to go. I remember I told my mom I would pick up my new meds from the Pharmacy. I’ll call you tonight.”

Mike doesn’t say anything as Eddie leaves and shuts the door behind him, but Eddie could feel his gaze. Eddie waves goodbye to Mike’s grandfather and politely thanks him for having him over before practically jumping on his bike and racing down the street. The wind is hitting Eddie’s cheeks, kissing them red. Eddie doesn’t even know where he’s going until he’s in front of the big brown house—Richie’s house. And as he hops off his bike, he doesn’t bother to kick up the bike rest, he just lets it fall into the snow. Eddie walks up the porch and knocks on the door. He doesn’t think twice about who could be home, or how there is no music coming from the upstairs window.

A teenage girl opens the door. Eddie has never seen her before; perhaps she is a few years older. He doesn’t know what to say, and feels embarrassed for showing up here in the first place.

“Can I help you?” the girl asks, eyebrows raised. The curls bouncing from her head look somewhat like Richie’s, except her hair color is a light brown. Eddie’s bottom lip trembles from the cold and from his nerves.

(Richie’s older sister?)

“Is Richie home?” Eddie asks. The girl stares at him blankly before shaking her head.

“No. He went to Patsy’s, I think.”

“Oh.” Eddie bites his lip. “Sorry. Thank you.”

The girl shuts the door without another word, and Eddie takes a step away. He notices the mailbox beside the door and how there are few letters peeping out the sides. Eddie wonders if Richie’s parents (or siblings) know they have so much mail. Eddie wonders _why_ they have so much mail. Shaking his head, Eddie hops down the steps of the front porch and walks to his bike, snatching it from the snow and brushing off the seat so he can ride it over to Patsy’s.

As soon as he mounts his bike and starts heading toward Patsy’s, Eddie realizes he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. Maybe he’ll see Richie and forget his anger or his annoyance, even though Eddie is sure he could not.

When Patsy’s is within sight, so is Richie. He is standing outside smoking a cigarette, like he always is, and just the sight of him gets Eddie so _mad_. He cycles faster, not knowing what he is going to say but not wanting to wait any longer to say it. Richie sees Eddie and smiles, cigarette between his lips and hands dug into the pockets of his large overcoat. Eddie doesn’t bother to park his bike; he gets off of it and pushes it to the side. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying until after he’s said it.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” he asks, and his voice comes out embarrassingly scratchy. The question is stupid and immature but Eddie is so _mad_ he could punch something.

“What?” is all Richie says, and Eddie is so mad he could punch _Richie._

“Because you touch my cheek and kick my leg under the table and— _that_ look, you always give me that fucking look with your stupid eyes! And you make me think it means something but it doesn’t!”

“Who says it doesn’t mean anything?” Richie asks, and Eddie wishes he wasn’t so calm all the time; it makes it incredibly hard to remain mad at him.

“Me! Because you don’t kiss me! _Ever_! You never fucking kiss me! So I don’t know what you’re doing! I don’t know what we are! And it drives me fucking _insane_!”

Suddenly Richie’s hand is on Eddie’s wrist, the same wrist where there is a friendship bracelet, and the same hand where there is a promise. Eddie is inhaling and exhaling so quickly he thinks he may have an asthma attack. Eddie isn’t sure when Richie flicked his cigarette to the ground but there it is, sleeping in the snow, dreaming out smoke.

“Hey, I don’t kiss you because you’re important to me,” Richie says, and he is _so_ close. Eddie is fuming, but their noses are brushing and their breaths are mingling.

(that doesn’t even make sense)

“I’ve only ever kissed people that I don’t care about, and I care about you a fucking lot. And I guess I thought I was supposed to kiss you for it to be special.”

( _oh_ )

Neither boy moves. All Eddie would have to do is tilt his head up and they would be kissing, but he doesn’t. Eddie is still annoyed, but not as angry; with Richie staring right down into his eyes everything seems to fade away. Eddie has never been in _like_ before, but he imagines it is something like this. The only thing that would make this moment better is if Richie’s hand was on Eddie’s cheek rather than his wrist, or if Richie’s hands were _all over_ Eddie. That would work just as well.

(just kiss me already)

Eddie wants to say it out loud. He will.

“Just kiss me, Rich,” Eddie says, and his throat feels thick like honey, thick like the tension between them. “Fuck being special.”

Now comes the gentle movement of a head—leaning down—and the meeting of lips. There is the feeling of curls on Eddie’s forehead, of two noses pressed together, and tongue on tongue. Eddie thinks there has never been a first kiss like this before. A kiss with a silver tongue pressed to one of purity, with the taste of cigarettes stained to the inside of a lover’s mouth, and with bass calloused fingers pulling at desperate hips. They are out in public, standing outside of Patsy’s, the soft hum of live music erupting from the inside, but Eddie doesn’t care. Eddie wants all of Richie, and he doesn’t care who sees.

When they pull away it is only for air. They are holding each other close, and Eddie is holding Richie’s cheeks, and Richie is holding Eddie’s hips, and Eddie finally knows what is so good about kissing. While his eyes are closed, he feels like they have always been wide open. Eddie hears Richie’s breathing, feels it hot on his wet mouth, and he goes in for seconds… for thirds… for fourths, until they have kissed so much that Richie’s lips are swollen and the only taste remaining in Eddie’s mouth is love.

“Finally,” breathes Richie. “Fucking finally,” he says again, and Eddie opens his eyes and laughs. Richie takes his hands off Eddie’s hips and grins widely, staring right at him. Throwing his hands up in the air, Richie lets out a loud scream, one at the top of his lungs. Eddie is only mildly embarrassed. “Finally!” Richie yells. “Yowza!”

“God, trashmouth,” Eddie says, and he is blushing fiercely, hands stuck in his coat pockets. It is freezing outside but his insides are on fire. “You’re so loud.”

“Yeah but you _like_ me,” Richie coos. Then he cups his hands around his mouth like he is going to yell again. “Eddie Kaspbrak—“

Eddie slams his body into Richie to shut him up, and the two boys topple over deep into the snow with a rambunctious duet of laughter. Eddie is lying on top of Richie, pursing his lips and trying hard to maintain an annoyed façade. But Richie just gazes up at Eddie, smiling, and he reaches to push back some of Eddie’s hair. Eddie wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t; he just lets Richie look. There is something so enchanting about watching someone watch you, Eddie realizes.

“As much as I like the feeling of you pressed against me, there’s snow in my boots,” Richie says, quiet. Eddie flushes, full body, and he is _so_ glad Richie can’t see any of the skin other than his face. Eddie is a full body blusher. After Eddie pulls himself up, he offers Richie a hand, which Richie takes graciously. “Wow, Eds, you usually blush around me but never this much. You feeling okay, or did my godly lips turn you permanently red?”

“Shut it, Rich,” Eddie says. He nudges Richie’s side and Richie chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. “Walk me home?”

“But you came on your bike,” Richie points out, smiling.

Eddie glances at where he threw his bike in the snow before turning back to Richie with a bashful grin. “I’ll let you drive.”

“Sure,” Richie says. “I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to have your arms wrapped around me.”

(god I could kiss you all day)

(won’t you let me kiss you all day?)

Eddie stares at Richie as Richie gets on his bike and gestures for Eddie to come over.

“Well, you coming?” Richie asks, and Eddie nods and walks to him. Richie settles his feet on the pedals and Eddie swings a leg over to claim the seat. Glancing back at Eddie, Richie has that _look._ Eddie thinks he shoots the look right back at Richie. “Hold on tight, Eds. I’m a wild driver.”

“You better not break my bike,” Eddie tells him. “I mean it. My mom will kill me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna upset Mrs. K now, would I?” Eddie wraps his arms around Richie and pulls too tight. Richie fakes a cough and Eddie loosens his grip, biting back a large smile. “All right, all right. I’ll treat your bike real nice, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Eddie says, and he leans against Richie’s back as Richie takes off. As they’re riding, Eddie gives Richie directions, even though Richie _insists_ he doesn’t need directions and guessing where Eddie lives would be a more entertaining game. “I have to be home,” Eddie tells Richie when he takes a wrong turn on purpose. “I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago.”

“You made exceptions just for me, huh?” Richie asks as he turns around and heads up the right street to Eddie’s house.

“Just this once, trashmouth. Don’t get used to it.”

“I’ll try.”

Richie pulls up in front of Eddie’s house and Eddie can make out his mother’s figure in the living room. Getting off his bike, Richie follows and steadies the vehicle with his hand on the handles. Richie gives the bike over to Eddie and reaches a hand out to brush some of Eddie’s hair behind his ear.

“Your hair is getting so long,” Richie says, still trying to brush some of the waves flat against Eddie’s head. But he gives up and offers Eddie a closed-mouth smile instead. “I like it.”

(I like when you touch me)

(I want your hands all over me)

“Your hair has always been long,” Eddie says, then he scrunches his face and cocks his head to the side. “I don’t know if I’m a fan, though.”

“Oh, can it, Eds.” Richie chuckles, running a hand through his messy curls. “You love my hair.”

(I think I might love everything about you)

Eddie nearly chokes at that thought, but contains it well enough that Richie doesn’t take any notice. Richie has his hand on the side of Eddie’s face, stroking his cheek and teasing his fingers back to touch the shell of Eddie’s ear. Eddie knows Richie won’t kiss him again. It’s okay.

“Wanna come over?” Eddie asks suddenly. “Not now. I just mean… sometime.”

He hopes the invitation doesn’t sound as sensual as it feels.

“Yeah,” Richie says, nodding. “I’ll call you.”

When Richie leaves he waves goodbye, and Eddie can’t help but think about having Richie over next time. He doesn’t know what the two of them would do exactly; they would probably just talk and maybe kiss a little if Eddie could have his way… although he doesn’t think Richie would be one to disagree. As Eddie continues to daydream and watch Richie become smaller down the road, he hears a knock from behind him and turns to look at his mother. She is standing by the living room window, urging him inside. She is saying something, but Eddie is not so good at reading lips, and so he walks up the porch and takes off his boots before entering his home.

“What were you doing, standing out there? You could’ve gotten hypothermia. The weather’s been awfully cold lately, Eddie; you’re not to go outside for so long. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Sonia Kaspbrak says. Eddie nods obediently as he takes off his coat and hangs it up.

“I know. I’m sorry. Mike’s grandpa made us lunch and we lost track of time,” Eddie lies.

“You should’ve called,” Sonia says, crossing her arms.

“I know. I’m really sorry.” Eddie tries to act sympathetic, but he’s afraid his joy might shine through, so he tries to get out of there quick.

(I was just out… kissing)

(I was just out kissing a _boy_ )

The thought makes Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

“I have some last minute homework to finish before school on Monday,” Eddie says. “Love you, momma!” Eddie kisses Sonia’s cheek before darting upstairs and into his bedroom. As soon as Eddie reaches his bedroom, he shuts the door and leans against it.

(I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I kissed a boy)

Eddie runs to his bed and leaps onto it. He can’t wipe the smile off his face. Grabbing his pillow, he shoves his face into it and screams at the top of his lungs, just like Richie did before. It’s a scream of happiness, a scream of _something finally went right in my life,_ of _I kissed a boy and I like a boy and the best part is that he likes me right back._ It is a scream Eddie has never had the privilege of releasing, but here it is, dripping out of him after being bottled up for so long. It’s well deserved and Eddie knows this.

“I have to tell Mike—“ Eddie speaks out loud, to himself, rising from his pillow, but stops once remembering he stumbled out of Mike’s house angry and annoyed. Eddie frowns, shoulders sagging.

(Mike’s probably mad at me)

(I should apologize for being such an asshole)

Sighing, Eddie drags himself out his bedroom door and quietly creeps down the stairs. Upon reaching the kitchen, he pauses and listens for his mother’s snoring to see if she’s dozed off on the couch again. Thankfully, it seems she has. Eddie pulls the phone off the wall and dials Mike’s number. It rings twice before Mike’s grandpa picks up, and Eddie makes up an excuse about having left something there and needing to talk to Mike briefly.

When Mike picks up his voice is low. “Eddie?”

“Mike,” Eddie says. “I’m sorry. I was a real dick earlier.”

“Yeah, you kinda were,” Mike agrees.

“I was just mad—and I shouldn’t have been… I was mad that you got your first kiss and I hadn’t. It’s really stupid and I’m sorry.” There is a long pause before Mike says anything.

“It’s okay. I just thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am! I’m so happy for you,” Eddie speaks enthusiastically into the phone. “And I’m so glad that you’re my best friend. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. So tell me all about your first kiss. I wanna know everything.”

“Really?” Mike is smiling. Eddie can hear it. “I’ll tell you everything but… only if you tell me about yours.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were mad that I got my first kiss and you _hadn’t_. So I’m assuming you and Richie cut the shit and got busy.”

“God!” Eddie blushes. “Hardly.”

Mike’s laughter rings clearly, bringing a smile to Eddie’s lips.

How could Eddie have ever been mad at Mike?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof they kissed....???  
> leave ur thoughts as always pls and thank u for reading!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on tumblr @oaf !   
> warnings for chapter: self harm mention (brief), scars

Monday toward the end of lunch, Richie looks at Eddie with stars in his eyes. He smokes his cigarette and drags a hand through his curly hair, gaze stuck to Eddie’s like he’s never had eyes for anything else. Eddie waves at Richie, but Richie just keeps looking. When Richie tosses his cigarette to the ground and crushes its light with the bottom of his foot, he comes over.

He tilts his head to the side, silently asking if he can talk to Eddie alone. Eddie smiles at his friends before excusing himself to go off with Richie. His friends send him suggestive looks, and Mike makes sure to mouth  _good luck_  within Eddie’s view. Eddie tries not to blush and throws out his garbage. Richie does not take Eddie’s hand, but Eddie wishes he would.

“I’m playing today—at Pasty’s. Right after school,” Richie says when they’re alone. “If you and your friends wanna come… you’re welcome to.”

“Well, I hope you know they’re your friends too, now. Bill’s house kinda sealed the deal.”

A grin claims Richie’s lips. “Okay. But you’ll tell them?”

(or you could tell them?)

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll tell them… how are you?”

“Fine,” Richie replies. “How are  _you_?” The curve of Richie’s lips reminds Eddie of when they kissed, how warm it had been as they were pressed mouth to mouth. The thought makes Eddie feel strange, so he tries his best to shake it from his mind. “Earth to Eds… where are ya, Spaghetti?”

“It’s nothing,” Eddie is quick to say, shaking his head as he licks his lips. “I’m—good. Fine. Are you sleeping enough?”

“God, Eds.” Richie clicks his tongue. “If you’re playing mommy does that make me the daddy?”

Eddie’s cheeks turn a furious red, and he crosses his arms and feigns annoyance. “Beep beep, Richie.”

“Still with that? Beep  _beep_?” Richie asks. “Beep beep, Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie grins. “You can’t just send it back to me. That’s not how it works. It’s beep beep,  _Richie_.  _I_  don’t need to be told when to stop talking.”

“Right, right…” Richie just looks at Eddie just then, his tongue peering out from between his lips. Eddie wants to take Richie’s hand in his and pull him close—wants to tease the shell of Richie’s ear with his soft lips and whisper a gentle  _I would kiss you right now if I could._  But Eddie doesn’t. He stands and looks at Richie right back. Neither are so bashful with staring anymore; they’re used to each other’s eyes. Eddie can only imagine the day he will be used to Richie’s hands. “Wanna get out of here?”

Eddie exhales so deeply he had not realized he was holding his breath. “Yeah,” he says, but quickly snaps out of his dreamy daze and shakes his head. “I-I mean, yeah, I want to, but… I can’t. My mom’s already on my ass about ditching before break.”

“On your ass, huh,” Richie teases. Eddie blushes. “ _God_ , Eds. You can’t just say you can’t hang out with me and then do  _that_.”

“Do what?” Eddie asks, genuinely confused.

“You blush so much. You might be the cutest boy I’ve ever met,” Richie says, smiling so wide Eddie wonders if it hurts. Then he reaches out and pinches Eddie’s cheek. Eddie frowns at the pinching, but his heart throbs at Richie’s compliment. “Scratch that; I  _know_  you’re the cutest boy I’ve ever met.”

“You’re so annoying,” Eddie complains, but his red cheeks say otherwise. There will come a day that Richie will find out Eddie blushes from head to toe; they will not always meet bundled up in winter clothes. The teasing will ensue terribly, Eddie thinks, when Richie discovers this. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Why, thank you, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says, and his British accent is back. “So I suppose you’ll be heading back to class?”

“I thought you were done with that stupid voice, Rich. And yeah, where are you going?”

“Patsy’s. Gonna go practice.” Richie cuts it out with the voice.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “What are you playing?”

“Some music,” Richie says smartly. He’s got this stupid look on his face that Eddie can’t help but love. “Specifically,  _my_ music. A song.  _My_ song. I wrote it.”

“Really?” Eddie feels warm inside just thinking about it. “What’s it about?” he tries, even though he is sure it is about him. If it’s anything like the last song, Eddie will melt right into the floor, all his friends as witnesses.

“Nothing,” Richie says. “Nobody.”

(I’m pretty far from nobody)

Eddie shoves Richie playfully.

…

“Whoa, he plays here?” Stan shouts over the booming music. Eddie nods and points to the stage toward the back of the room. Stan looks in awe of the venue, and Eddie feels pride buried in the pit of his stomach; he loves his friends and he wants them to like Richie as much as he does.

(well… not quite as much)

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “Let’s go by the stage.”

Richie waves at them all from the sidelines, his face perking up at the sight of Eddie. Eddie smiles and thinks he blushes a little. “He’s just getting ready,” Eddie explains, like he’s been here so many times before. “He’s probably up next.” Ben and Mike wave back at Richie, and Richie’s grin transitions from heartfelt to one of disbelief.

“Is he any good?” Stan asks, and Eddie sees how Ben elbows Stan’s side as if a warning of watching his mouth. “What? It’s just a question.”

“You’ll see,” Eddie says, because he wants his friends to be surprised and also wants to avoid teasing of how he thinks his  _whateverRichieis_  is oh so talented. A loud ring of static rumbles across the room, and everybody flinches, a few lifting their hands to cover their ears. Then there is a low chuckle that echoes.

“Sorry,” Richie says quietly into the microphone he’d just knocked into. Eddie searches the faces of his friends; it is the first time any of them have ever heard Richie speak above a whisper. Given, Richie still speaks very quietly. “I’m a little nervous tonight. I have some people who came out to see me.” Cue a loud  _whoop!_  from Mike. Richie bites back a smile and takes a deep breath before swinging his bass over his shoulder. “Here’s an original.”

First there is the plucking of a guitar, and Richie’s fingers tease the strings of his bass as he prepares for his entrance. When he plays, Eddie swears the whole room lights up, and when Richie leans foreword and presses his mouth to the microphone, Eddie is sure the whole audience’s knees must buckle. The dark ringlets encompassing Richie’s face cover his right eye, although Eddie can see that Richie is staring at him just by his left. There is something so enchanting and  _hot_  about having the boy you like stare at you as he’s playing an instrument. Eddie thinks everybody should experience it at least once in their life.

“When I look at you I get a good idea,” Richie sings gently, his voice raspy from cigarettes. The lyrics pass quickly, Eddie notes. “Stay on the line until your voice feels nearer; I was meant for you said the psychic reader, yeah.”

(holy fucking shit)

Eddie cannot look away, not even to examine his friends’ expressions.

Another instrument comes into play. “When I look at you I get a good vibration. Stay on the line until I hit your station; I was meant for you so I can be patient, yeah.” Richie steps away from the microphone for a split second, focusing on his plucking and nodding his head to the soft beat of the song. “Am I hitting a wall? Is it nothing at all?”

All of a sudden, drums come in—crashing, the rhythm picking up and all the instruments finally melding together. Richie is so good, Eddie thinks, Richie will be  _successful._  There is no way it won’t happen. In this moment Eddie is so sure of it: Richie was born to do great things. Richie deserves so many great things.

“I was in the room when you were leaning. It ended too soon when you fought the feeling.” The scratchiness of Richie’s voice only compliments the style of the song. As the vocals break for an instrumental part, Eddie turns his head to look at his friends; he knows this is the only time he will ever be looking away. There is a grin plastered to all his friends’ faces, undoubtedly, and Eddie is so proud. Beverly is holding Ben’s hands, making him dance, and Stan, Mike, and Bill are all standing together with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Staring at his friends’ awestruck expressions, Eddie thinks: Richie did that.

The song finishes quickly after that. It seems to be a short tune overall, nevertheless enchanting. “Thanks,” Richie says into the microphone before he walks over to the band and chats. Although Richie seems to know people are waiting for him. As he is getting off the stage, starting his walk over to his friends, Eddie meets him halfway. Eddie doesn’t want to wait.

“Hey,” Eddie says when he’s close enough for Richie to hear. “You did great.” Richie envelops Eddie in a tight hug, and from there they are all arms. Eddie never wants to let go. He feels like putty in Richie’s grasp, and he worries people must be watching. But he remembers Richie’s words from a week ago:  _“They have girls that fuck girls and guys that fuck guys and people that fuck everyone. No questions or any shit. Nobody cares.”_

Eddie holds on a little tighter.

“I missed you,” Richie tells him—the first words he says. Perhaps at any other time in his life Eddie would wonder how you could miss someone even after seeing them just hours before, but now he knows the feeling. When Richie pulls back there is romance in his eyes, and Eddie wants to kiss him. Richie holds onto Eddie by his hips, drawing them close so they are standing flush, their heads inched apart on purpose. It is for Eddie’s comfort, not Richie’s, and they both know. Biting his lip, Eddie reaches out and rubs his thumb across Richie’s right cheek.

“I missed you, too,” Eddie says, because he does not have the willpower to bicker right now, not when they are like  _this_. Now it’s less arms and mostly looking.

“I missed you everywhere,” Richie says, leaning closer. It is only Eddie’s instinct to lean away, and so he does. Richie doesn’t seem to take this the wrong way; he just smiles and licks his lips. “Nobody…” his voice is real quiet, “Nobody cares here, what we do. They won’t say anything.” Eddie is still wary, but he looks around to see how many eyes are on them. He purposefully does not glance back toward his friends. “It’s okay,” Richie tells Eddie, words he would remember. “It’s okay.”

“Hey, Richie!” Finally a voice calls out, and as Richie’s gaze flickers over to where Stan is standing Eddie cannot tear his eyes away. Richie is still holding Eddie close, but he loosens his grip around Eddie’s hips to welcome the others into their conversation. Mike claps a hand on Richie’s back and grins widely.

“That was amazing! Where’d you learn to play like that?” Mike asks.

“I bet he taught himself. He’s just got that vibe to him, don’tcha think?” Beverly asks, turning to Ben as she giggles. Then Richie nods, chuckling. “See!”

“That wasn’t half bad, Richie,” Stan says. “You’ve surprised me.”

“You sounded great,” Ben states, smiling sweetly. “I didn’t know this place even existed.”

“M-M-Me either. It’s p-pretty cool, though,” Bill interjects. “H-How did you h-h-hear about it?”

Richie shrugs. No answer. Naturally, Eddie thinks this is a good time to cut in.

“When did you write that song?” he asks, because he is both trying to fill the silence and he is genuinely curious.

“Uh. Recently,” Richie says.

“I wish I could write songs,” Ben admits. Beverly grins at him widely and kisses his cheek sweetly.

“You’re awfully good at poetry, so I bet song writing is a walk in the park,” she says.

“Get a room,” Stan says.

“This is a room, Stanley,” Beverly replies.

“All right,” Ben says, cheeks red. “We’ll go outside. It’s pretty crowded in here anyway.” Eddie is secretly thankful for Ben announcing everyone’s leave; Eddie wants more time with Richie, as always. “Should we wait for you, Ed?”

“Um,” Eddie mumbles.

“I’ll get him home safe,” Richie interjects softly, grinning. Eddie blushes and attempts to cover it with his hands. Ben chuckles and says okay before heading outside with everyone. “Will you let me? Get you home safe?” Richie asks when they are alone. He pulls Eddie close again, so that they’re pressed tight up against each other and there is absolutely no breathing room.

“Not if you keep acting so clingy,” Eddie shoots back, smiling.

“You like me clingy.”

(I like you  _always_ )

“Yeah right,” Eddie snorts.

“Mmmm,” Richie hums, nuzzling his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck. While Eddie enjoys the feeling of Richie’s lips against his naked skin, they are very much in public.

“Richie,” Eddie says.

“What?” Richie replies lazily.

“There are people around.”

“So,” Richie brings his head out from Eddie’s neck and smiles shyly—Eddie’s favorite look. “Take me back to your place, Eds.”

“My mom won’t be happy if you show up announced. She doesn’t even like when my other friends come over. I would need to give her week’s notice,  _at least_.”

“I get it. She’d be unreasonably jealous of how incredibly hot I am.”

“That is not at all what I said, but.” Eddie laughs.

(I want you to come over so bad)

(come over)

(I don’t care what my mom says)

“I would have to leave before it gets dark, anyways. That doesn’t leave so much time to hang out.”

“Well,” Eddie starts. “We should get a move on if you’re coming over.”

When they arrive at Eddie’s house, Eddie makes Richie climb in through his bedroom window. Eddie goes in through the front door once Richie has settled in. Thankfully, Sonia is passed out on the sofa as usual, so Eddie easily slips by and goes straight to his bedroom. When he enters, Richie is sitting on his bed, eyes doing rounds of everything in Eddie’s room whilst his fingers brush against Eddie’s bedcovers.

“Hey,” Richie says once he looks at Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie replies. He’s nervous.

(there’s a  _boy_  in my room)

(and it’s  _Richie_ )

“Come sit. I don’t bite,” Richie says, and Eddie goes over to where Richie is sitting. Eddie thinks he has never been this nervous in his entire life. It almost feels like his whole body is trembling. They are sitting on Eddie’s bed together, close like they always are. “Mind if I kiss you?” Richie asks, as if he has never kissed Eddie before. Eddie shakes his head and lets out a breathy “yes, please” as he leans in, waiting. “Close your eyes,” Richie whispers, his hot breath steaming across Eddie’s lips. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to close his eyes. There is a brief moment of silence, and then there is the feeling of a wet tongue teasing Eddie’s parted lips. Perhaps Eddie would have jumped back if anybody else would do this—but with Richie, Eddie can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, eyes still closed.

“Shhh,” is all Richie says, and then his hands are in Eddie’s hair, brushing through the brown waves, and his tongue is back on Eddie’s lips.

“Can’t you just kiss me?” Eddie questions. For a quick second while he is speaking, he feels Richie’s tongue on his.

“Why are you spoiling my fun?” answers Richie. Then he kisses Eddie, softly, like he touching him for the first time, and Eddie likes to think that somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, he is. “Happy?”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, and he puts his hands in Richie’s lap because he isn’t sure where else to put them, because he’s never done  _this_  before but doesn’t want to stop and ask  _how_. He opens his eyes without thinking, because he wants to see Richie’s face when he’s this close. Richie kisses Eddie once on the mouth, but then he pulls back and looks at Eddie.

“Why are your eyes open, weirdo?” Richie asks.

“I wanted to see you,” Eddie says honestly.

“Nobody kisses with their eyes open. Shut them.” Richie lets out a light laugh. “Unless you don’t want to kiss anymore.”

“I love kissing you,” Eddie says. Somehow during their kissing Richie’s hands migrated from Eddie’s hair to Eddie’s cheeks. Instinctively, Eddie leans into the hand pressed to his right cheek. It is unbelievably hard not to lean into Richie’s touch. Eddie thinks Richie knows he is putty. Richie just watches as Eddie tilts his head and presses a kiss to Richie’s palm, soft and gentle, like this moment they are sharing. It is now Eddie notices a discoloration on Richie’s wrist that draws his eyes. He looks at it, unable to resist, and realizes it is the same few dots he had asked Richie about previously.

“Where did you get those?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the dots decorating Richie’s pale wrists. It is suddenly that Eddie notices there are more tracing further up Richie’s arm. Richie glances at the scars and pays them no mind. Then he shrugs, nonchalant as ever.

“Told you—cigarettes.”

(are you lying?)

“Rolling over onto your cigarettes?” Eddie pushes, getting a little annoyed.

“Precisely.” Richie smiles.

(why are you lying?)

“I like being your—friend,” Eddie says, because what else is he supposed to call them? He can’t think of a better word and Richie doesn’t seem to mind. They are friends, at the end of the day…friends that kiss and maybe one day will do more. Eddie is sick of not knowing about Richie, and he can’t hold back any longer. “But how can we be friends if you keep feeding me all your bullshit lines?”

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Richie laughs.

“Can you please be serious?” there is an unmentioned plead in Eddie’s words. Richie’s face contorts into something strange, with his lips pursed and his eyebrows scrunched together. An expression of hesitation, then consideration, Eddie guesses. Eddie is curious as to how many times Richie has heard the sentence  _can you please be serious?_

“I am serious, Eds,” Richie says, voice calm, as if he’s been trained to deliver this line times and times before. Staring at Richie, Eddie cannot force himself to believe it. “I’m okay,” Richie says, his tone almost scaring Eddie. Richie grins widely with his teeth exposed, as if  _he_  is the one pleading. “I’m okay,” he says again, and Eddie wishes he would shut up.

Eddie’s voice is just below a whisper. “Are you?”

“Why would I lie?” Richie asks, and Eddie has heard that before.

( _“Eds, would I ever lie?”_ )

“I don’t know. Why would you?”

For once the trashmouth has no trash to spew. He is silent, smile gone—similar to his old self, the one that would sit in the back of class with his head on the table, curls spiraling off his desk. The one who looked so  _dead_  but was somehow still  _alive_.

“I know you lied about where you live,” Eddie admits. Richie sits expressionless, gaze never straying from Eddie. Eddie shifts uncomfortably on his bed. Eddie has always been good at making sense of things, but nothing about Richie makes sense. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just don’t make up lies.”

There is nothing to be heard but the roaring wind streaming in from Eddie’s bedroom window. Suddenly, Richie rolls up his right shirtsleeve so that his entire forearm is exposed. Eddie winces. There is a ring circling around Richie’s shoulder, and much like the small dotted burns on his wrists, the mark looks intentional. Eddie wonders if this ring was born from a cigarette as well; he thinks dragging a burning cigarette across bare flesh could attain that same perfect ring.

(do you hurt yourself?)

Richie does not look at Eddie. Eddie is at a loss for words, and so he covers familiar ground and settles his palm over Richie’s right hand. It isn’t until now that Eddie notices Richie has been fisting the blue bedcovers.

( _“It’s okay.”_ )

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, even though he isn’t sure it is. “I’ve got you.”

Richie says nothing.

So Eddie does.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Eddie says, yet he knows Richie was not planning to. “But I am here,” Eddie assures Richie, still holding his hand. “For if you ever want to talk. Whether or not that day ever comes.”

Richie leaves.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on my tumblr @oaf

As Eddie sits in class, legs bouncing up and down, mind scattered but eyes focused—focused on where Richie sits, Eddie cannot help but think about how Richie’s not _here_ , and how he never seems to be _here_ , even when he is; the only time Eddie feels close to Richie is when there is a hand on his cheek and a hazy flutter in his eyes. Richie isn’t in school. He hasn’t been for a few days. There is a rumble in Eddie’s stomach, a bad feeling nestling between the cage of butterflies living inside him. He only tunes into class when a hand touches his shoulder, when the teacher looks down at him, concerned, and asks, “Are you feeling all right?”

Eddie shakes his head slowly, honestly. _No_ , he wants to say, _I am feeling very not all right._ But he just stands up from his seat and shakes his bag off the back of his chair, stating his leave to the nurse. As he exits the classroom, everybody watching, Eddie knows he is not going to the nurse. He goes outside to get some fresh air and takes a puff of his aspirator in attempt to get fresh lungs. Unaware of what to do or where to go, Eddie goes around to the back of the school and stares at the picnic bench where he sits for lunch, with all his friends, and his eyes trace back to the side of the building, where Richie usually stands and smokes his cigarette, all too quiet. There is comfort in silence, but Eddie finds that perhaps there is also a bit of danger.

(worried)

(I’m just worried)

_Worried_ to say the least. _Worried_ because Richie is neither coming to school nor talking to Eddie. _Worried_ because the last thing Eddie said

( _“For if you ever want to talk. Whether or not that day ever comes.”)_

he regrets. Not because it isn’t true, because it is; Eddie will always be willing to listen to Richie, though Eddie worries there will never come a day when Richie wants to tell. Taking a deep breath, Eddie considers going back into school. While it’s the right thing to do, Eddie knows his heart is longing for something else. Eddie has never been one to follow his heart, not until Richie, and so for once in his life, he does. Turning away from the school building, Eddie walks off in the direction of his house. He goes down the same route that leads him to Richie’s house, and he sees lights on upstairs but hears no sound of a presence. Eddie wonders who’s home, if it’s just Richie or his siblings or parents, too. His thoughts are a mess as he marches up the porch of Richie’s house, and standing in the cold, cheeks red and lips chapped, Eddie is embarrassed.

(what am I even _doing_ here?)

He doesn’t knock, just bounces back on the balls of his feet repetitively, trying to find the source for the sudden _obsessive insanity_ that has become of him. There are questions budded in the root of Eddie’s head, ones that consist of panicked _why is Richie ignoring me?_ and _doesn’t he like me still?_ and _what did I do wrong?_ The door opens before Eddie can comprehend his knuckles against it. A woman stares at him, eyebrows furrowed, thin lips tied together. Lowering his hand, Eddie’s mouth runs dry and he cannot even remember how to speak. He wonders when he became so desperate.

“Hello,” the woman says, and her straight blonde hair makes Eddie curious as to where Richie got his bouncing black curls. “Can I help you?” Eddie says nothing, just curls his fists and tries to focus on maintaining an even breathing pace. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“U-Um,” Eddie says. “I—“ he jerks his thumb behind him, miming the direction of school, but he knows there is no way for this woman to understand what he’s trying to say. He drops his hand and allows his gaze to wander. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to.”

The woman looks sympathetic. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. Then, biting his lip, he glances at the woman before asking: “is Richie home?”

(fucking HELL why did I ask that?)

“Yes. He is,” she answers. “What was your name?” Perhaps she’s asking because she thinks Richie has mentioned Eddie, but Eddie feels as though Richie never has. Richie is not the most open person. Eddie thinks Richie would be even more distant toward his own family.

“Eddie,” Eddie says, because it would be rude not to tell her.

She smiles. “Richie hasn’t been feeling too well lately, but I’ll let him know you came by.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. He winces. “Actually, you don’t have to—tell him I came by, I mean. You don’t have to tell him.” While the woman looks confused, her grin never falters and she nods. As Eddie takes a step back, she bids him farewell and shuts the door softly. “Fucking idiot,” Eddie curses quietly, exhaling deeply. “You’re a fucking _idiot_. What were you thinking? What were you _thinking_? Do you even _think_?”

Stepping down from Richie’s porch, Eddie wishes he had never left school at all. The only thing he’d done is embarrassed himself _and_ set himself up for his mother’s anger. “Fuck,” he swears, kicking at the snow as he walks. It is only when he hears the familiar hum of a bass string that he turns around, heart warm and palms clammy. Richie is practicing his music. The plucking is simple but beautiful. Perhaps Richie is working on something new. Eddie stands quietly, eyeing the window, trying to make out the words.

“Ugly moon… you know I’m different now,” Richie sings gently, as if he’s not sure the lyrics are set in stone yet. “Shit,” Eddie hears him curse. The plucking stops. Then starts again. Richie sings the same line over and over again, seeing how it feels, seeing how it fits. Eddie has never heard the process of creating music before. He hopes one day he is able to see it.

_Ugly moon_ , Richie keeps singing. A low, raspy tone of vocals.

(ugly moon)

(what the hell does that mean?)

Richie just continues to sing the same line of _ugly moon you know I’m different now._ Eddie wants to know what it means, but upon realizing he has been loitering the Tozier house too long, Eddie turns on his heel and makes his way back to his own house. When Eddie gets home, he is relieved to find that his mother is out running errands. He goes upstairs to his bedroom and tries not to think about Richie. Though thinking about Richie is both inevitable and _completely impossible._ Eddie thinks he’ll call Mike, because it’s nice to talk to someone, but Mike’s at school, like Eddie should be, and so Eddie is at a loss. He sits on his bed, swinging his legs and biting his lip, before he reaches for his cassette player and plays back Richie’s mix. It has been living in Eddie’s cassette player since Richie gave it to him. Eddie cannot think of a reason to switch it out; he loves it.

Eddie keeps playing the same song over and over again—the last track on the mix, the song that seems out of place but also seems to fit. Eddie plays the song on repeat, but then there is a certain string of lyrics he can’t shake: _I guess I'm lying 'cause I wanna. I guess I'm lying 'cause I don't._ He presses the rewind button on his cassette player and listens again to the lyrics again. _I guess I'm lying 'cause I wanna. I guess I'm lying 'cause I don't._ And he rewinds it again. _I guess I'm lying 'cause I wanna. I guess I'm lying 'cause I don't._ Again. _I guess I'm lying 'cause I wanna. I guess I'm lying 'cause I don't._ He plays it back so much he wonders if his cassette player will break. _I guess I'm lying 'cause I wanna. I guess I'm lying 'cause I don't._

(what does that _mean?_ )

(why doesn’t he make any _sense?_ )

(I wanted a boyfriend not a puzzle)

Huffing, Eddie takes off his headphones and tosses them on his bed. Eddie doesn’t want to solve Richie. People are not to be solved, so just what game is Richie playing? Eddie sighs, then wipes at his suddenly runny nose with the back of his hand. The door downstairs swings shut, and then it is too quiet; Eddie knows his mother must have seen his shoes by the door. There are distant footsteps, then a loud shout of: “Eddie? Are you home?” Eddie doesn’t want to answer, but he does.

“Yeah!” he calls back, and he waits silently for his mother to come to his bedroom to see what’s the matter.

“Why are you home? What’s wrong?” is the first thing she asks when she swings his door open, and she approaches Eddie and cradles his face like he is a child with a high fever. “What’s wrong, my baby? What’s wrong?” she keeps asking, and Eddie wants to slap her hands away and cry his eyes out, though he doesn’t know why. _I think my heart is not mine anymore,_ Eddie wants to say, _I think somebody took my heart and I’m never going to get it back; there is an empty ache in my chest, where my heart used to sleep, and I don’t know how to make it stop hurting._

“Baby? Eddie? Eddie-bear?”

Eddie pushes his mother’s hands away, gently. “I’m fine,” he says, avoiding her eyes. He thinks he will cry. “I’m fine, I just… felt dizzy so I came home.”

“Dizzy? Did you go to the nurse? I didn’t get a phone call—I’ll have to contact the school about being more efficient in keeping track of its students—“

“No, Ma, I’m fine. I didn’t go to the nurse.”

Sonia looks horrified. “And why not?” But Eddie just shrugs. “You need to go to the nurse, Eddie. You cannot just leave school grounds without telling anybody. I will not have you do this again. Twice is _enough_ , don’t you think? Did I raise you like this? Your father would be—“ Eddie tunes her out; he usually does. He sits on the edge of his bed and takes the scolding, takes the lecture. When his mother leaves he lies down, on top of his covers, and glues his eyes to the watch enclosed around his wrist. The arrows tick away the seconds, the minutes, the hours until school is out. He will call Mike once classes are over.

When it is four o’clock, Eddie steps out of bed and goes into the kitchen to call Mike. His mother is asleep on the sofa

(what’s new)

and so Eddie does not waste a minute standing around. Immediately upon dialing the number, Eddie shoves the phone as close to his ear as possible. “Please pick up,” he murmurs, then repeats, “Please pick up.” Although he isn’t sure what he is going to say, he knows he has to speak to _someone_ , _anyone_ willing to listen, and Mike always is. “Mike,” Eddie says when Mike finally picks up. Suddenly Eddie is embarrassed for calling, for needing someone because he does not have Richie. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“What?” Mike says. Eddie thinks it takes everything in him to hold back a choked sob. “What happened, Eddie?”

“Richie’s not talking to me and I don’t know what I did.”

“Maybe you didn’t do anything,” Mike suggests, as if it could be that simple, and Eddie sniffles unknowingly. “Maybe that’s just the way he is.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie wonders out loud. There is shuffling on the other end when Mike takes a deep breath.

“Well.” Mike pauses, perhaps to consider his words. “Some people are just used to being on their own. So when they’re not, they distance themselves.” Eddie picks at his cuticles. Eddie has never been on his own. He has friends that love him so much, and a mother that loves him too much, and he has never had to be on his own. “That sounds like Richie, right?” Mike’s question pulls Eddie from his thoughts.

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t actually know that much about him.”

“Have you tried asking?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t budge.” It is quiet as Eddie continues to bite at his fingers. “Hey, do you wanna come over? I know it’s a school night and it’s gonna get dark soon and your house is far, but—I dunno. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure,” Mike says, and Eddie thinks Mike must be smiling. “I’ll be over in a half hour.” When Mike hangs up, Eddie doesn’t know how he feels. Taking a deep breath, he goes into the living room where his mother is sleeping and taps on her shoulder. She wakes with a tired groan and an irritated look on her face.

“What is it, Eddie?”

“Mike is coming over. We have a math test tomorrow. We’re gonna study.”

His mother looks skeptical. “All right… he better not stay too long.”

“Just for an hour or so,” Eddie compensates. “Thanks, mom.” He kisses her cheek and she grins at him.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I think so,” Eddie lies. “I must’ve been dehydrated or something.”

“That damn public school with their faulty water fountains. Start carrying around a water bottle.”

“Sure.” Eddie nods. “I will.” His mother starts watching the television again, so Eddie waits around downstairs until Mike shows up. Mike comes prepped with a backpack, knowing the usual lie Eddie uses when he wants to invite any of the losers over. As Mike grins at Sonia and greets her politely, Eddie wonders if Mike knows his smile is his best feature. “We’ll be upstairs,” Eddie says, excusing the both of them. Eddie’s room is hot when they enter, and Mike opens a window without asking, but Eddie doesn’t mind. If it’s too stuffy his asthma will act up.

“Why weren’t you at school today?” Mike asks. “Or did you leave early again?”

“I left early,” Eddie replies, taking a seat on his bed. He gestures for Mike to sit, too, and so Mike does. “I wasn’t feeling too well.”

“Too much on your mind?” Mike asks.

“You could say that.” Mike doesn’t say anything, but he holds Eddie’s hand. Mike’s hand is warm and smooth, calloused but not scarred—nothing like Richie’s hand. “I went to his house to see if he was okay. He didn’t answer the door. Some woman did, his mom, I guess. She asked me my name and when I told her she didn’t even look like she vaguely recognized it.” Eddie scoffs. He feels so stupid. “At least _my_ mom knows Richie’s name from the school directory.”

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Mike says.

“I’m so stupid,” Eddie finally says out loud. It feels like a confession, slipping off his tongue. It is almost a relief, to say it. “I’m stupid and Richie is just a repeat of last year.” _Finally,_ Eddie has said it out loud. The statement feels overdue.

( _“We didn’t know anybody besides his loser friends would be willing to hang out with him after **what happened**.”_ )

Mike shoots Eddie a pissed off sort of look, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand tightening around Eddie’s just a little too much. “Richie is not a repeat of last year, Eddie,” Mike says. “Why would you even say that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow everybody at school knows about us.”

“Stop it, Ed. You know Richie wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Sometimes it feels like he would,” Eddie says too quickly. Then he gets quiet. Eddie doesn’t know why they’re arguing, doesn’t know why Richie is ignoring him, doesn’t know why he’s so hooked on a boy he’s known for a _month_. “I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t,” Mike says, rubbing Eddie’s hands. Eddie watches as Mike reaches across Eddie’s bed for the cassette player lying on top of the sheets. Waving the cassette player in front of Eddie, Mike grins. “Let’s listen to some music. Get your mind off things, yeah?” If Eddie wanted to get his mind off things, he’d need to switch out Richie’s tape. He really didn’t want to, but he points a shaky finger at the drawer of his desk where his other mixes are.

“Put in a different tape,” Eddie says. “Richie made me that one.” Frozen, Eddie stares, lips parted and eyes blinking.

(wait a minute)

“Richie made me that mix,” Eddie thinks out loud, taking the player from Mike’s hands.

“Yeah… you just said that.” Furrowing his brows, Mike searches Eddie’s face. And taking the cassette out of the player, Eddie eyes the _"I think this is a better explanation”_ written on the label. “Uh oh. What’re you thinking?”

( _“Well, yeah. I know I’m pretty shitty with words so…” Richie shrugs, bashful again. It is an attractive look on him. “I hope you like it.”_ )

“What do you know about making a mix?” Eddie asks.

“Uh.” Mike blinks. “Nothing. I could ask Bill; I think his dad has a tape recorder. Why do you ask?”

“What if I made Rich a mix?” Eddie suggests. “On the phone—you said something about Richie distancing himself… because maybe he’s used to being on his own. He made me a mix to tell me how he feels. Maybe I could do that? That sounds like something he’d like.”

Thinking to himself, Mike nods. “Sure. It could be therapeutic, too. Maybe if you just get it out of your system you’ll feel better.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll ask Bill about the recorder tomorrow at school. You don’t need to do it for me.” Glancing back at Mike, Eddie smiles thankfully. “Hey, thanks for being such a good friend, Mike. And sorry for being such a lousy one lately.”

“What makes you think you’ve been a lousy friend?”

Eddie shrugs. “Just a feeling.”

“You’re not a lousy friend, Eddie,” Mike says. “You’ve never been. Not to me, not to anyone.”

“Love you, Mike,” Eddie mumbles. He rubs his eyes. Suddenly, he is unbelievably tired.

“I love you, too, Ed. Always,” Mike replies. Standing up from his seat on Eddie’s bed, Mike approaches Eddie’s desk and rummages through the different cassettes in his drawer. “Huh. You have a lot of _wham!_ ”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on my tumblr @oaf  
> leave me an ask or something if u enjoy ugly moon!

The paint on the ceiling of Eddie’s room is peeling; it is practically begging for someone to reach out and pull it off. As Eddie stares, he wonders if he could find his motivation hidden beneath the long, narrow strips of off-white paint chips. It is Friday morning, just before Eddie’s alarm goes off, and Eddie cannot find any reason to get out of bed. If he truly wanted to, he could stay home today. He had no tests, no projects due, no special occasion… the only issue is his mother’s irritating whining; if Eddie stayed home with a made up illness he would hear too much of _let’s go to the doctor again just to make sure you’re okay_ and _get in the car I made another appointment._ Eddie is tired of that. He pulls himself out of bed and tugs on yesterday’s shirt, too lazy to find a new one.

The walk to the bathroom is short and Eddie is thankful not to be stopped by his overbearing mother. Sometimes she still tries to wake him up for school, as if he isn’t turning seventeen this year and isn’t on the brink of legal adulthood. He wonders what his mother would do if she knew what he got up to behind closed doors—or what he used to get up to, with Richie and Richie’s hands and Richie’s lips. Maybe she’d cry, or scold him, or send him away. Shrugging it off, Eddie brushes his teeth and goes about his business, getting ready for school. Once back in his room he pulls on a pair of jeans and throws a thick sweater over his shirt. _Good enough,_ he thinks, because it is not like Richie will be at school, because he never is anymore.

Downstairs, Eddie’s mother cooks him a hearty breakfast, but he is not hungry. “I have to go in early to take a quiz for Math. It’s for extra credit,” Eddie lies, smiling. “I’ll see you after school, Ma. I dunno if I’m doing anything, but I’ll come home before to let you know my plans.”

“Sure,” Sonia says, though she looks uneasy, standing in her pajamas by the stove cooking scrambled eggs just how Eddie likes them. “See you after school, baby. Take a granola bar with you. Don’t forget your water bottle.” Eddie walks to the cabinet and snatches a granola bar, then reaches for his water bottle on the dish drying rack before filling it up with cold tap water. He kisses his mother’s cheek gently before saying goodbye and gearing up for the cold. January is almost over, so the weather is lightening up a bit, with less snow, but Eddie still needs at least three layers to feel warm enough to walk to school.

He doesn’t pass by Richie’s house on his walk; Eddie’s learning not to torture himself like that. If Richie is going to drop out of Eddie’s life, then Eddie’s going to drop out of Richie’s, and that’s just the way it is.

(even if it does seem like the hardest thing in the world)

The day moves relatively quickly once Eddie gets to school. He’s early, and so he rummages through his locker trying to look casual until Bill approaches him and says a friendly good morning. They make small talk and then go to Biology together. Bill talks about some movie he and Stan and Mike watched last weekend, and how he thinks Eddie would like it. There is no mention of Richie, because the most of the losers have gotten good at avoiding that conversation. By the time they reach class and sit down in their seats, the bell rings. As Eddie turns his attention to the front of the classroom, he feels a soft tap on his shoulder.

“I-I’ll finish telling you about t-the movie after class,” Bill whispers. His stutter is getting lighter as the weeks pass. Eddie smiles.

“Okay,” Eddie replies.

When lunch comes around Eddie is relieved to spend time with his friends. It is like everywhere else in the world Eddie has to hold his breath, but not with them. He sits next to Mike and Mike slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, grinning.

“Hey,” Eddie says.

“What’s up?” Mike asks. “How was class?”

“Good. What did I miss?”

“Nothing really,” Ben answers. “Are we all still on for tonight?”

“I’m game,” Beverly says, then she bumps Eddie’s hip with her own. “We haven’t seen so much of you lately. You’re coming, right? You can’t miss movies at Bill’s; it’s a classic.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“What’re we thinking for drinks?” Stan asks, but before anyone answers he says, “I’m thinking booze.”

“What’s t-t-the occasion?” Bill jokes. Stan just shrugs.

“Dunno. I haven’t gotten drunk in a while.”

“I’m all for booze. Let’s booze it up,” Beverly says, sticking a cigarette between her lips. She lights it carefully and takes a drag, exhaling in the opposite direction of Eddie. He smiles his thanks, but doesn’t think she notices. Eddie gets his lunch out and starts eating.

“Who wants to split the price with me? And come with me to get it?” Stan asks. “I gotta drive out of town to get it because this town is so fucking small. Sucks that everybody knows everybody.”

“I’ll come,” Eddie says, chewing on a carrot. He thinks he needs to get out more, and hasn’t hung out with Stan in a while. “It’s only fair. I wanna get fucking drunk.”

“Great, thanks, Ed.” Stan smiles and bites into his sandwich. “We can go before heading over to Bill’s. I’ll pick you up around five. I’ll borrow my dad’s car; it’s practically mine. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna give it to me for my birthday, anyway.”

“T-That car’s a p-p-piece of junk,” Bill states, muting his chuckle behind his hand. Stan glares at Bill, but there is an obvious grin plastered to his lips.

“You don’t think it’s a piece of junk when we’re—“

“All right!” Ben interrupts. “Eddie and Stan are handling drinks. I can cover snacks, if you guys want?”

“I’ll buy some, too,” Beverly adds.

“My presence is gift enough,” Mike says.

“G-Got that right,” Bill says. Something of a blush puddles across Mike’s cheeks.

Exhaling deeply, Eddie finishes up his lunch and chats with his friends about tonight. He’s so excited he thinks he could scream. If there’s one thing Eddie loves, it’s his friends. They make him feel comfortable and happy, even when he isn’t feeling very much of either. They are his sweet escape. Lunch soon ends, and then the school day ends, too. Eddie is glad that the day passes quickly; he isn’t sure he can stand another second in the building, with teachers talking in his ear and having to take note of everything on the board. He goes to his locker before exiting the school. He puts away the books he won’t need over the weekend, thinks about the night he will have at Bill’s, tugs on his winter gear, and then waves goodbye to Beverly, who is standing at her locker, several feet away, grinning at Eddie and calling out a “See you tonight!”

It is when Eddie leaves school and sees Richie standing outside, waiting, cigarette shoved between his fingers and hair disheveled from having a hand ran through it, that Eddie suddenly remembers why he has been so upset lately. He thinks about turning away, returning inside and leaving through the back exit, so he won’t have to talk to Richie. But then Richie looks at him, and somehow that is enough to will Eddie to approach him on casual feet, slowly, torturously.

“Sorry,” is the first thing Richie says, and he immediately crushes his cigarette with the bottom of his foot, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. _Sorry_ , Eddie thinks, _you ghost me for two weeks and all you have to say is sorry?_ Eddie clenches his fists, and he’s glad they’re buried deep within his coat pockets, his anger and annoyance seemingly unseen by Richie. “I wish I had a good explanation, but I don’t.” Richie shrugs, finally looking at Eddie. It’s after school and Richie has come to meet Eddie outside, even though he was absent in all his classes again today. “Sorry, Eddie.” Richie does not seem himself.

“Do you like me?” Eddie asks abruptly, because he just wants to know, because worrying is getting so old. Confusion flashes across Richie’s face, and he reaches a hand up to run through his messy hair.

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. It doesn’t sound like Richie means it, but Eddie guesses it’ll have to calm his nerves a little bit. “I don’t mean like a friend,” Eddie adds, as if it wasn’t clear enough before. He regrets it immediately; a small chuckle escapes from between Richie’s lips.

“I don’t kiss my friends, Eds,” Richie says.

(well you don’t kiss me much lately, so)

“I need to go home,” Eddie says, because speaking to Richie is oddly painful. Eddie is mad at him, but he also wants to kiss him. Adjusting the backpack strap on his shoulder, Eddie begs himself to walk past Richie, but feels it’s impossible. So he sighs instead.

“I’ll walk you,” Richie replies.

(please _don’t_ )

“Fine,” Eddie says thinly, and he wonders why he can’t say no to Richie, why whenever Richie comes around Eddie’s tongue turns to mush. “Well, come on.” Eddie starts to walk and Richie follows closely at his side. Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. They’re so close, so close like they’ve been before, so close like Eddie always wants to be. “Been sleeping?” Eddie asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Something like that,” Richie answers.

“Have you ever heard of giving a clear answer?”

“No, I’m not familiar with that,” Richie says, grinning. Eddie hates looking at Richie right now. He’s wearing his glasses today. It’s hard to be mad at someone when you’re unbelievably in _like_ with them. “You know, Eds—“

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, genuinely, the question leaving his mouth calmly, not accusingly. _It’s just a question,_ Eddie thinks. _I deserve an answer after asking it twice,_ Eddie thinks. He shrugs his shoulders and stops walking. They are not so far from the school yet, but Eddie does not think they will make a scene. If anybody sees they will just think they are two friends talking, even if Eddie doesn’t feel like Richie’s very much of a friend right now. “Rich, I’m tired. So just, tell me what you’re doing. No jokes, no puzzles, no mixtapes. You say you like me—you—you _kiss_ me, you disappear for two weeks _and_ you ignore me, and—and—and I like you but I don’t think I can take this. It hurts too much, you shit. You hurt me and you don’t even notice.”

Richie simply sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m not so good at stuff like this.”

(stuff like this)

“That.” Eddie exhales angrily. “That’s not a good enough answer.”

Richie nods, perhaps contemplating, perhaps just wanting to shut Eddie up. As he stares at Richie, Eddie wonders why everything is so complicated, why nothing can be as simple as the love stories he has read. There is beauty in fiction, yet such ugliness in reality. Eddie wishes it weren’t so. The look on Richie’s face is strange. He kicks at the snow near his feet and lights another cigarette, seemingly so he has something to do with his hands.

“Okay,” Eddie says with a hysterical chuckle. He begins to walk again, hitting Richie’s shoulder as he passes. Eddie is fed up, and done, and he doesn’t know what Richie could do to better the situation other than explain what’s wrong, but Eddie knows that’s not happening. Eddie only makes it a few steps before he is being pulled back, a quiet “ _Eddie wait”_ leaving Richie’s lips simultaneously.

Eddie does not mean to push Richie, but he does, straight into the snow, and Richie lands on the ground with a _thud_. As Eddie turns to apologize to Richie,

(I didn’t mean it)

he is disturbed by the sight he finds. There is not a move from Richie, not a sound. He is frozen, eyes glued to the snow encompassing him, cheeks red from being kissed by the temperature but not kissed by Eddie. It is a scary sight, Eddie comes to realize, and he reaches out to touch Richie. Something isn’t right. But then Richie chuckles, and his eyes flash up to meet Eddie’s gaze.

(what the fuck was that?)

“Geez, Eds! If you wanted me on my knees, you could’ve just asked!”

Eddie is speechless. He wants to let it go, wants to forget. He hopes he never has to see Richie like that again. It is like when the bottle smashed on the ground and Richie could not wake up to reality. “You’re _so_ ,” and then Eddie lets out a breathy, annoyed laugh, “you’re _so_.”

“You’re giving me mixed signals here, Eds—you call me _so_ and then push me on the ground. I know I’m irresistible but don’t you think we’re moving a little quick—?”

“Can you stop? Not everything is a joke,” Eddie says, though he should know better by now; joking is just part of Richie’s nature.

         “Life is so much better if you take everything as a joke, Eds! Live a little.”

         “Don’t call me that.” Eddie crosses his arms, frowning. Neither boy says anything more. Richie drops his cigarette. Perhaps Eddie has ruined his nicotine appetite. The wind blows and Eddie watches the sky. It is almost dark out, and he already knows Richie will be stating his leave before they both take off, rushing home to protect Richie from the dark.

“Sorry,” Richie says suddenly. He’s serious now, maybe because of what Eddie said. “I’m not so good at this,” he says again, and Eddie wishes he would shut up and say what exactly _this_ is.

“Sorry for pushing you on the ground. I didn’t mean to; I was startled,” Eddie says, and Richie doesn’t make another joke like Eddie thinks he will, he just nods. Then he looks up at the sky.

“I should get going—“ he starts to say, but Eddie is surprised to find himself cutting Richie off.

“Why don’t you stay out past dark?”

(what the fuck did I just ask?)

Richie blinks, startled and slightly amused. “What? You think I’m a werewolf or something?”

“You always leave once it gets dark. I’ve never once seen you out during the night.”

“To be fair, Eds—you never see me unless I want you to.” That one stings, but Richie’s smiling nonetheless. Eddie wishes he would wipe that stupid grin off his face.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Eddie says, rubbing his eyes. He’s tired of this. Tired of not knowing, of liking someone who feels the same way but won’t talk seriously for a second.

“Your insults are _so_ cliché. You think I haven’t been called an asshole before?” Richie lights a third cigarette and takes a long drag, purposefully exhaling the smoke onto Eddie’s face. He’s never done this before, and it earns a glare from Eddie. Eddie coughs and reaches for his inhaler.

“Do you—“ Eddie takes a puff of his aspirator, “Ever stop talking?”

“You seem to forget you’re the only person I speak to.” Clenching his teeth, Eddie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Richie is so exhausting. He’s always got something to say, no matter what. When Eddie opens his eyes, Richie is looking at him. Really, truly looking at him—that _look_. That look he hasn’t seen in so fucking long. Eddie’s heart warms and he wishes he could stay mad at Richie. “I don’t like the dark,” Richie admits, shrugging. “I don’t like the dark, so I don’t stay out late.”

“You’re scared of the dark?” Eddie asks.

(seems like a lame ass excuse to me)

Richie scoffs. “Yeah. I’m scared of the dark.”

(…what do I say to that?)

They start walking back in the direction of Eddie’s house a few minutes later, once the awkward silence has passed. Richie doesn’t do anything but smoke _yet another_ cigarette, and Eddie tries to piece together what exactly he knows about Richie. But it’s unbelievably hard.

(nothing)

(I know nothing)

Neither talks. It is silent. Eddie tries not to look at Richie, and Richie seems unpleasantly unbothered. As they reach Eddie’s house, Richie pulls to a stop. Dropping his cigarette, he squashes it beneath the sole of his shoe and glances up at Eddie, not saying anything.

“Are we back to this?” Eddie asks. Richie just shrugs a shoulder and looks away. Eddie sighs.

(maybe he is scared of the dark)

(even though he’s sixteen and that’s weird as hell)

“You can talk to me,” Eddie says quietly, and he wonders how many times Richie has been fed that line. As Richie looks up at Eddie, Eddie feels a pang of bravery rumble deep within. Taking a step closer to Richie, Eddie puts his hands on either sides of Richie’s face and kisses him on the lips, once, gently, like the kiss is an exchange of a delicate secret, a whisper from one boy to another. The kiss is short, but just right, and Eddie knows the curtains in his living room must be open, though he cannot find it in him to care at this moment. With his forehead pressed to Richie’s, Eddie nudges Richie’s nose softly, a nose kiss. “I’m here for you, you trashmouth. I like it when you talk to me, and when you sing, and when you do anything.”

“Anything, huh?” Richie’s voice is low… teasing? “Even when I call you Eds, then?”

“Fuck no,” Eddie says, and he pushes Richie away jokingly, taking a step back and putting a distance between them. “I like everything but that.” Richie just smiles. “And if you can’t sleep one night, you can always call. Talking to a friend used to help me.”

“A friend,” Richie repeats back, as if to see how it feels. Then he nods. “Okay. I shall give you a call, my good sir.”

“I’ll be expecting it.”

“And I can’t keep a boy waiting.” Eddie smiles. It is crazy how quickly he can go from being mad to moonstruck.

“Will you be at school Monday? I miss seeing you in class.”

“Maybe,” Richie says, and it doesn’t seem like a lie. “Gotta check my schedule. I’m booked.”

“I bet.” Eddie plays along. “I gotta go. Stan’s coming by.”

“Bored of me already?” Richie jokes.

(hardly)

“You know it. Go on,” Eddie says. “It’s almost dark.”

“Don’t want you to see my fangs,” Richie says, backing away, grinning widely. “Can’t have my Eddie Spaghetti be scared of me.”

( _my eddie spaghetti_ )

“I’m not scared of anything,” Eddie claims, crossing his arms, head held high. Richie just keeps smiling, walking backwards slowly, in the direction of the big brown house. “Walk the right way, idiot. You’ll trip over your own two feet.”

“Mhmm, playing mommy turns me on; say _more_.”

Eddie lets out a loud laugh. “Shut the fuck up. You’re disgusting.”

“Lucky for me your mom likes it dirty.”

“Give it a rest.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now,” Richie says, waving. “Bye, Eddie Spaghetti.”

(I’ll miss you)

“Bye, Rich.”

Watching Richie go is not as painful as Eddie thought it would be; Eddie has hope that he will return, if not on Monday then in the near future. So Eddie goes inside, says hello to his mother, is wary for a few minutes as if to test if she saw the two boys kissing outside her humble home. But she seems fine. She tells him to stay hydrated and do his homework early.

“I’m going to Bill’s tonight,” he says to her. “I might stay over.”

“You’ll fall behind on your studies,” is all Sonia says, turning back to the TV, remote in hand. She clicks through various channels.

“I’ll study tomorrow when I get back. I always study. You know that,” Eddie replies, then he takes his bag off his shoulder and motions to the stairs. “I’m going upstairs. I’ll do some homework before I leave.” Heading to his bedroom, Eddie thinks he’ll continue thinking out songs for Richie’s playlist. He has not been avidly working on it, because he has been trying not to think about Richie so much, despite how hard it gets. But whenever a song comes on shuffle, and Eddie thinks about Richie, he writes the song and artist down in his notepad to remember for when he’s constructing Richie’s mix. There are only a few songs so far, but Eddie imagines it’ll be a long playlist, something Richie can listen to when he’s bored, or alone, or can’t sleep. _It’s just something,_ Eddie imagines he will say as he hands Richie the playlists, and perhaps their fingers will brush during the exchange. Eddie blushes at just the thought.

Time goes quickly, and before Eddie knows it, Stan is honking his horn outside in an attempt to get his attention. Looking out the window, Eddie smiles and closes his notepad on his desk and puts his cassette player in his drawer. Rushing downstairs, Eddie throws on his coat and doesn’t even button it all up before he calls out a messy, “See ya later, Ma!” and rushes out the door. Stan grins upon seeing Eddie, unlocking the door so the two can get a move on.

“Hey, Eddie,” Stan says as Eddie sits down and cranks up the heat. “This car’s old, so the heat doesn’t work _that_ well.” Eddie eyes Stan’s appearance; he is still wearing his winter jacket and hat, and Eddie supposes the heat doesn’t work at all. Either way he lets out a giggle and buckles up. “We’re not going so far,” Stan tells him. “It’s like a… twenty minute drive? My friend’s meeting us near this grocery store so we can pay really quick and still make it to Bill’s by the time everyone else is getting there.” Eddie doesn’t ask how Stan knows this friend, he just nods along and blows hot air into his gloved hands.

“It’s really fucking cold,” Eddie says. Stan laughs and goes to turn up the heat, even though they both know it won’t do anything. “How are you?”

“Temperature wise? Pretty freezing. Mood wise? Pretty okay.”

“How’s _Bill?_ And _Mike?_ ” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. Stan shoots him a joking glare before tightening his hands on the steering wheel and letting out a deep breath. “Mike tells me a lot, but not so much. You know how he likes to keep to himself.”

“We’re good,” Stan answers. His grin widens. “Really good.”

“Really good, huh?” Eddie teases. It has been too long since he has hung out with Stan, and he has missed his company.

“Yup. Really good.”

Sinking back into his seat, Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “You won’t tell me anything? Really? You won’t budge?”

“Hey!” Laughing, Stan lifts one hand off the steering wheel in a ‘ _what’re you gonna do’_ kind of motion. “You want details? Tonight. When Bill’s drunk. You know how he rambles and has no shame.” And Eddie’s giggling again, into his hand.

“You’re right. Okay, fine. Tonight, then. I’ll know everything.”

“How fortunate for you. You’ll get to hear about how we all spend the early hours of the morning… playing video games until Bill’s dad comes and yells at us for making so much noise.” The two boys are laughing, content, and Eddie feels light with relief and cheer. “How are you, though?”

“Well.” Thinking to himself, Eddie brings his bottom lip between his teeth and cocks his head to the side. With his eyes off Stan, it is easier to think straight. Eddie considers saying he is fine, happy, but it is Stan, and Stan wouldn’t tell a soul or make too big a deal of Eddie’s mental state. “I think I’m okay,” Eddie settles on that, watching as Stan nods his head and keeps his eyes on the road. When Stan doesn’t offer another question as a prompt Eddie realizes he is meant to expand on his previous statement. “I mean, yeah.” Eddie thinks he talks too much about Richie, about himself, and so he is hesitant to mention anything more.

It isn’t until Stan says, “How’s Richie?” that Eddie feels less selfish speaking of his crush.

“He’s… I don’t know. Not so good? I guess. I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me so much.”

“He hasn’t been at school,” Stan states.

“Yeah. I don’t know why. He came to see me today, though.”

“And?”

“Told me he was sorry. I don’t know.” Eddie doesn’t really feel like expanding, so Stan drops it and turns on some music instead. After a few moments of listening, Eddie speaks: “Hey, what song is this?”

“Uh.” They are both quiet, listening in to the rhythm and lyrics of the song. It is a loud tune, with a rough voice singing prettily. “…Rollin’ Around? I think. Not sure who it’s by; Bill made this mix of his favorite songs. You can look for the case in the glove compartment. He wrote out all the tracks there.” Opening the glove compartment, Eddie searches for the cassette case curiously. There is not so much clutter in there, like one would think, for Stan is too clean. As soon as Eddie finds it, he shuts the compartment and reads Bill’s messy scrawl.

“Rollin’ Around by Nat and Alex,” Eddie says, and he listens to the song for a second. The lyrics remind him of Richie, as everything so often does: _I know that you are lying dear, I can taste it on your tongue._ Eddie does not ask to turn the music up, he simply does. If Stan minds he doesn’t say anything. Neither boy says anything more; they just listen to the song. When they arrive at the grocery store, Eddie pulls out some cash and hands it to Stan without another thought. “Want me to come with you?”

“No. It’ll only be a minute,” Stan says. He shuts the door, leaving the engine running so Eddie can keep listening to music. Eddie watches the whole exchange, his hand on the car door incase he needs to intervene, not that he thinks he will or that he would be able to offer any physical strength need be. The man and Stan talk for a second, then Stan gives the money and the guy gives the cans of beer, and Stan is walking back to the car in no time. “And I’m back.”

They’re driving again, laughing about nothing and talking about the night they hope to have. When they arrive at Bill’s house they see everyone’s bike parked outside, and they head to the house quickly, ice cold cans of beers between their numb fingers. Bill lets them in with a large grin. Eddie closes the door as Stan gives Bill a kiss flat on his lips, a bashful smile tracing his lips.

“We’re here!” Stan calls out. “Let the fun commence.”

Eddie and Stan take off their coats as everyone settles into the living room, cracking open cans and digging into the bags of chips provided by Beverly and Ben. Mike comes to meet Eddie and Stan in the hallway, though, and he claps a hand to Eddie’s back and kisses Stan’s cheek.

“Let’s get drunk,” Mike says to the two of them, and they all chuckle. Eddie is so glad to have such wonderful friends. “Drunk! Drunk! Drunk!”

“You sure you a-aren’t already?” Bill giggles.

After they all gather into the living room, they pass around drinks and snacks and turn on a movie, even though none of them are really watching. Someone also turns on background music, as if just not to have to sit in any sort of quiet. Eddie isn’t even sure what film is on; all he knows is that there is sweat dripping from his beer can and a disgusting taste in his mouth. He still isn’t used to the taste of alcohol, still doesn’t really like it, but sometimes he likes to let loose and drink it anyway. He supposes one day he’ll enjoy it. Shrugging, he downs one can, unknowingly under Beverly’s gaze. As he tosses the can to the side and reaches for another one, Beverly lets out a loud yell and claps.

“Go, Ed! Wanna race?” She asks, and he thinks she is joking but she is not, for she already has a can of beer open in her hand and a look in her eyes so fiery it matches her hair. “Stan, you count. Loser streaks.” Eddie’s immediate reaction is fear. His memory brings him back to last year: the _incident_ as he calls it. The incident that was both terrifying and embarrassing, the one that he tries so hard not to remember or bring up or let Richie know about. Eying the faces of his friends, he notices they wear nothing but smiles. So they haven’t realized.

(what am I supposed to _say?_ )

(fuck)

“Fine,” Eddie says, because nobody else has seemed to catch onto his discomfort. If he ignores it, won’t it go away? “I don’t plan on losing.”

“Fine, then, cutie,” Beverly replies.

“Hey! We’re all losers here,” Bill cuts in drunkenly, waving his drink in the air. Mike pats his shoulder lovingly and whispers something into his ear that Eddie cannot hear, but Bill lets out something of a chuckle in reply.

“Stan! Count us off!” Beverly shouts, sending Stan a look of disbelief.

“Ready, set, go!” Stan calls out, stomping his feet on the ground as a sort of drumroll, though it mostly sounds obnoxious. Eddie throws his head back to down his beer, and only a few seconds pass before he’s finished. When he sees Beverly still drinking, he lets out an out of character laugh. When Beverly finally puts down her drink, Stan lets out a serious, “And Beverly loses.”

“Congratulations to Eddie, our winner!” Mike shouts. Everyone erupts into a loud cheer and Eddie cannot wipe the smile off his face.

“You’re not actually gonna streak, are you, Bev?” Ben asks sweetly. Beverly cracks open another beer and takes a gingerly sip. “It’s like, ten degrees outside.”

“Hardly! It’s at least up to thirty,” Stan says.

“I’m not a sore loser!” Beverly yells, standing up from her seat.

“E-Except my neighbors might call the cops,” Bill says.

“Except his neighbors might call the cops!” she repeats, sitting back down. “Next time, boys. You’ll all turn straight for me, no shit.” She continues to drink and Eddie is glad she does not actually follow through with the bet. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop thinking about the time he went streaking, and how it wasn’t intentional or fun in the least bit. “This is maybe the shittiest beer I’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t see you offering to get something better,” Stan replies.

“Touché,” Beverly says, holding her finger to him. They clank cans and smile at each other, a brotherly exchange. “What movie are we even watching?”

“Beetlejuice, I think,” Ben answers, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume.

The hours begin to pass quickly, and the only loser that isn’t stupidly drunk is Stan. He drinks, but he doesn’t get drunk. As Eddie stares at Stan as he lies on the couch, Eddie wonders where all the alcohol goes. Eddie’s feet are in Bill’s lap as Bill sleeps soundly, because most of the teenagers have gone to sleep announced or fallen asleep during the early hour chatter. Bill was the first to go; he can hardly take any alcohol. Eddie is not a lightweight per say, but he definitely can have one too many, and at this point, he’s past his limit. Awake now is only Eddie, Ben, and Stan. Eddie doesn’t really hear himself as he talks, he just knows he is talking.

“Do you think I’m ugly?” Eddie asks, looking at Stan with wide eyes. Both Stan and Ben look startled by the question.

“You’re not ugly, Eddie,” Stan says. There is a lilt in his voice that Eddie cannot trace back to amusement or pity.

“You’re not,” Ben agrees from his spot on the floor. He sits next to Stan, because Eddie and Bill are hogging the whole couch and Beverly and Mike have fallen asleep on the kitchen counters. “What made you ask that?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Eddie looks at his fingernails instead of maintaining eye contact with either boy. Suddenly his hands are interesting. He thinks he’ll paint his nails, or ask Beverly to do it for him. He likes his nails painted, especially because his mother despises it. “Dunno,” Eddie mumbles, almost sounding like a child. He feels a hand on his arm and glances down at Ben before rubbing his eyes. “Sometimes I just _feel_ like I am. Sometimes I feel so ugly that ugly seems like an emotion.”

“Well you’re not ugly,” Ben reminds Eddie. “Anybody who thinks you’re ugly isn’t worth your time.”

“Do you think Richie thinks I’m ugly?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

“No way,” Stan says. “Have you seen the way that guy looks at you?”

“The way he looks at me,” Eddie says. “That _look_.”

“What look?” Ben asks.

Eddie laughs to himself quietly. “I never told anyone but… he gets this _look._ I don’t know what it means! But he _looks_ at me like that sometimes—that _look_! And it just makes me _die._ When he looks at me like that I just could _die._ ” He’s breathless, thinking about Richie. Eddie’s friends are quiet and he doesn’t know why, so he keeps rambling assuming silence is permission enough. “But then sometimes he doesn’t give me the _look._ So sometimes I think that _look_ isn’t even mine, like it isn’t meant for just me at all. Like Richie gives that _look_ to just anybody. Because he doesn’t talk to me so how could I know?” Noticing the glance Ben gives Stan, Eddie sighs dramatically. “You don’t have to say anything. Don’t say anything. Forget I ever said anything. Forget I say anything ever.” He turns over on his side so he is facing the couch cushions. The position suggests sleep. “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he says.

“You don’t need to tonight,” Ben replies.

“I don’t need to brush my teeth?” Eddie asks, grinning. “That’ll really get my mom. I’m not brushing my teeth! If only she knew.”

“Okay, Ed. Let me get you a blanket,” Stan says, rising from his seat. He grabs a few beer cans from the floor as he leaves the living room. Then it is just Ben and Eddie.

“You don’t think I’m ugly, Ben?” Eddie whispers, as if just to make sure.

“No,” Ben says. “Not at all.”

“Okay.” It is quiet. “He called me ugly, you know.”

This catches Ben’s attention. “Who? Richie?”

Even drunk, Eddie can recall last year’s emergency sleepover, and the words Stan spoke

( _“Don’t worry about scum like him, Eddie; he’s just scum._ )

after kissing Eddie’s head.

“No. The scum. Him.” Closing his eyes, Eddie yawns. “I’m tired. Good night.”


	12. Chapter 12

When Eddie wakes the following morning, the others are already chatting and cooking breakfast in the kitchen. There is nobody in the living room, and so Eddie lounges until he figures one of his friends will come to fetch him for some food. While there is light laughter to be heard in the kitchen, Eddie does not put the effort into making out what is being said; quite frankly, it’s too early, his mouth tastes like vomit, and he doesn’t have a clue what time it is. Stretching his arms above his head, Eddie lets out a deep sigh as he drops his hand off the side of the sofa. He is disgusted to feel a wetness on his fingers, and immediately whips his gaze to the floor. Eddie is embarrassed, and he is glad nobody is here to witness. Sometime during the night, Eddie had thrown up in a trashcan that someone must have set up for him.

(probably Stan)

Eddie makes a face at his hands, covered in his own vomit, and finally gets up to go wash up. He goes straight to the bathroom and washes his hands three times, just to be sure he’s clean. Then he rummages through Bill’s downstairs bathroom to see if there are any spare toothbrushes, and is relieved when he finds a brand new pack. Only taking one, Eddie brushes his teeth extremely well, examining all the hard to reach spots in the mirror. He splashes his face with cold water and takes a deep breath. It feels like it must be nine AM. Eddie looks for advil in Bill’s overhead cabinet and takes three, just because the pain in his head is awful.

(how much did I drink last night?)

(what the fuck even happened after Stan and I showed up?)

There is a knock on the door, and then Mike’s voice: “I’m gonna piss myself. Ed? Is that you in there?”

Eddie swings the door open. “Yeah.” He presses a hand to his forehead. “Stop yelling.”

“Somebody had a little too much to drink last night,” Mike says, pushing past Eddie into the bathroom. Eddie nearly stumbles onto the floor. “Whoa, take it easy. Breakfast is on the table. Go drink some water.”

Without replying, Eddie goes into the kitchen and looks to the table; there’s bacon, sausages, eggs, bagels, and hash browns. Eddie wants to make a joke upon entering, but he can’t think of one and his head hurts too much to try. He mumbles some incoherent “Good morning” and sits down at the table. Beverly hovers above him as he sits, and he puts his head down on the table. There is the pressure of a small hand on his shoulder and he knows it must be her.

“You’re reminding of someone right now,” she says, and her voice is gentle, like a whisper. Eddie isn’t even sure whoever else is in the kitchen can hear. “Heard from him?” she asks. Eddie doesn’t respond. “Eat something, at least. Gotta sober up before you see your Ma.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, finally looking up. Stan is sitting across from him reading a book, a cup of coffee in his hand. Bill is still at the stove, cooking away and Ben is nowhere to be found. “You cook this, Bill?” Eddie asks, because he feels like such an asshole for not saying good morning, but it’s too late now.

“Only the best for my friends!” Bill cheers, but winces upon noticing Eddie caressing his own face. “Sorry,” Bill whispers. “I woke up in a good mood.”

“Wonder why,” Stan snickers from across the table, sipping at his coffee.

“No dirty talk at the table,” Ben says as he enters. “Oh, morning, Eddie.”

“Hi, Ben.” Beverly passes Eddie a plate and Eddie digs in. He’s beyond starving. His stomach is probably the most empty it’s ever been, having only been filled with shitty beer and powdered donuts. “This is so good,” Eddie says, taking a bite of bacon. “Thanks, Bill.” He already felt a little bit better. What Eddie thought might be a shit day, might not even turn out so terrible.

“Eddie, are we still going to the library later today? If you’re not feeling up to it, we can totally do tomorrow, or even Monday after school.”

“No, today’s fine.”

“I’ll meet you there around four?”

“Sure… what time is it now?”

“Almost one.” Stan cuts in. “You were tired after all your talking last night.”

“It’s one?” Eddie groans, too alarmed by the time to notice Stan’s comment about Eddie’s drunken chatter. “Shit. I hate sleeping my day away.” Eddie groans again for good measure. “Four is great, Ben, although I should probably head home soon. I didn’t even tell my mom about the library today. She’ll be pissed if I show up right at four and leave again.”

After finishing all his food and waiting for his headache to fade, Eddie says goodbye to all his friends and heads out. He takes a particularly long time during his walk home, because while it is cold outside, the fresh air feels oddly relaxing. There is not so much to worry about when you’ve got a cold chill in your face, Eddie has realized. And once he gets home, there will be too much to worry about. The walk is peaceful, and Eddie does not notice Richie loitering outside his house until he is few feet away, having been too preoccupied with watching his steps in the snow.

“Oh,” Eddie says. This visit is unexpected. “Hey.”

“You didn’t answer,” Richie states blatantly. “I called.”

Eddie stares at him, dumfounded. Then he remembers his offer from the previous day. “Fuck,” he swears, face palming. He feels like the ultimate asshole. “Sorry, Rich, I was at Bill’s.“

“S’okay,” Richie says. “Not sure I would’ve said much anyways.”

“You can call tonight. I’ll be home.”

“Sure.” Richie smiles. Eddie thinks Richie doesn’t believe him, but drops it. Suddenly, Richie cocks his thumb back behind him, gesturing to Eddie’s house. “Your mom home?”

“She ought to be.”

(does he want me to invite him in?)

“You wanna come in?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Richie waits for Eddie to make a move for the door, so Eddie does. He unlocks the door but doesn’t push it open until he warns Richie about speaking in front of his mother. “Don’t worry, Spaghetti, your mom and I have a thing. She loves me.”

“Yeah right.”

“What? It’s true.”

“Not a word,” Eddie says, pointing a finger. Richie lowers his mouth to Eddie’s finger and mimes biting. “I mean it.” Eddie pushes open the door, a grin instantly slapping upon his lips. “Hi, Mom.”

“Eddie,” she says from the couch. Her gaze instantly falls to Richie, who’s trailing behind Eddie with a goofy grin on his face. “Who’s this?”

“Uh. This is my friend Richie.”

Sonia surveys Richie with her eyes. “Your friend. Richie.”

Something of a strangled noise leaves Richie’s mouth, to which Eddie elbows him in the stomach. “Yeah. He needs help with school stuff. We’ll be upstairs.” Before Sonia can question the situation even more, Eddie rushes upstairs and assumes Richie is following behind him. As soon as they’re in Eddie’s room, Eddie shuts the door and sighs heavily, still turned away from Richie. Eddie hears his mother call after him, but ignores her knows he’ll suffer for it later. _But later is later,_ Eddie thinks as he feels Richie’s hand on his shoulder, _and Richie is here **now.**_

“Your friend. Richie.” Richie’s lips are dangerously close to the shell of Eddie’s ear. So close Eddie can’t help but lean back into him. Then Richie lets out a low chuckle, snaking his hands down to Eddie’s waist. “Just your good friend Richie.”

“You know I couldn’t…” Eddie’s words get caught in his throat.

“Couldn’t what?” Richie’s still holding him so close, so close Eddie thinks he might spontaneously combust.

(tell her)

(I couldn’t tell her)

(you know I couldn’t)

“Couldn’t tell her what a catch I am?” Richie asks softly. “Don’t worry; she knows.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes back on Richie, pulling away. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Oh, so there was a mood?” Richie asks, eyebrows raised and a fat grin stuck to his lips. Turning back around, Eddie puffs up his chest and fakes an angry look.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I like a man with a big vocabulary.”

“Do you have a comeback for everything?”

“It’s my primary talent!” Richie says, and he keeps looking down at Eddie with his stupid face. Eddie cannot tell if it’s that _look._ He thinks it might be, but for some reason he’s lost touch of what it used to be. “Hey, listen,” Richie pauses, rummaging through his coat pockets. He pulls out a cassette and Eddie wonders if it’s what he thinks it is. “I made you part two.” Holding out the mix to Eddie, Eddie almost forgets how to breathe.

(of course there’s part two)

(how could I forget the other mix was called _one_ )

“Oh.” Eddie takes it and opens the case, not trying to seem like he is overly excited to read what the label says this time. When he sees Richie’s messy scrawl, Eddie wants to scream, but he doesn’t; he just rereads it over and over, knowing that Richie is watching but not caring. The label reads: **_I feel it too._** And Eddie wants to listen to the mix right now but doesn’t know if he should. “Should we listen to it?” Richie looks serious now, but Eddie thinks he might have dropped the grin a while ago. He can’t focus. “Or I could listen to it later.”

“When you’re alone, yeah.”

(when you’re alone)

( _yeah_ )

“Okay. When I’m alone.” He bites his tongue, smoothing his fingers over the case. “I’m going to the library with Ben later,” Eddie says for conversation. Nodding, Richie takes off his coat and shoes and that is how Eddie knows Richie will stay a while. _You haven’t kissed me yet today,_ Eddie wants to comment, hint, whisper—all of the above.

“Can I come?” Richie asks.

(huh?)

“Uh, sure.” Eddie sits behind Richie and tries not to think about the last time they were sitting side by side on Eddie’s bed. Richie had shown Eddie his scars, the cigarette marks stained across his once smooth skin. Eddie doesn’t like to think about that day. “You got a lot of homework or something?”

“Yup, lots of work to make up. I haven’t been at school, remember?”

“Right.”

(how could I forget?)

“So. What do you want to do?” Eddie asks, and it comes out uncomfortably cliché. _What do you want to do?_ Eddie asks innocently, as if he doesn’t want to have Richie’s hands all over him and his tongue in his mouth. Avoiding eye contact is key. But Richie doesn’t say anything. After a while of silence Eddie is forced to look at Richie, to see what he’s doing, but he’s just sitting there smiling cheekily.

“I dunno, Eds,” he says. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Richie stares blankly at Eddie. “Wanna kiss me?” Richie asks. Eddie is both alarmed and warmed by the question. They are simple words, but so big leaving Richie’s lips.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes out, waiting.

“Okay, so kiss me.”

“What?” Richie laughs.

“Kiss me, Eddie! I want you to kiss me. I’m yours to kiss, so please kiss me.”

(fuck)

He isn’t so sure where to put his hands, but he guesses next to Richie isn’t so bad. When Eddie leans closer, Richie immediately closes his eyes, perhaps instinctively. Eddie’s a nervous mess. Initiating is hard, way harder than they make it seem in movies. There is a puddle of freckles across Richie’s face, freckles Eddie knew existed but never like this. “You okay?” comes Richie’s raspy voice. He opens one eye, squinting.

“Yeah. You’ve got so many freckles,” Eddie blurts. He’s not embarrassed though. He figures the statement is enough warning for when he drags his finger across the bridge of Richie’s nose. “I like them.”

“I like that you like them.” Richie’s eyes are fully open now. The two boys are just looking, like they so often are. “You really gonna make me kiss you?” Eddie kisses Richie like it’s their first kiss, and in a way it is. Richie’s hands immediately come up to cradle Eddie’s face. They’re positioned awkwardly but this is fine. “Finally.” Eddie feels the word mumbled into the back of his mouth and only grunts in reply. They kiss until Eddie’s lips feel numb, until his mouth is so hot and wet he wonders how he isn’t melting. When Richie pulls away, what could be minutes later but what feels like hours, they are both a bit distorted. Eddie leans his forehead against Richie’s shoulder.

“Who knew kissing could be so great,” Eddie thinks out loud, mumbling it into Richie’s shirt.

“Uh. Everyone,” Richie says, and Eddie feels his laugh rumbling.

(I love this)

(you’re so great)

“Hey,” Richie says, his head leaning on Eddie’s. He shakes his shoulder, making Eddie groan in annoyance. Eddie wants to say he doesn’t want to move, that he’s too comfortable, that with lips kissed red, he doesn’t want this moment to ever end. “Hey. Let me see your face, Eds.” Obliging, Eddie pulls his head up and stares at Richie. He thinks he must wear the dreamiest he ever has.

“You see my face plenty.”

“Not enough.” Richie takes Eddie’s chin into his hands and Eddie just _wants_. What a beautiful thing, Eddie realizes, to want and to be wanted back. “You’re fucking awesome. The cutest boy ever. You might be the best person I’ve ever met.”

(you’re definitely the best person I’ve ever met)

“I like you so much,” Eddie admits in a rushed whisper, almost embarrassed. He knows he’s blushing. “So much I can’t believe it sometimes.”

“I bet I like you more,” Richie replies. “I’ve never liked anyone before.” With the way he stares at Eddie, Eddie knows Richie is waiting for Eddie to say it back.

“I liked someone last year,” Eddie says.

“Oh? Do tell.” Richie looks intrigued; he lets go of Eddie and lies down on Eddie’s bed, as if for story time. It’s easier not to look at Richie when he’s lying on the bed, so Eddie figures now is as good as a time of any to explain the incident of last year.

“Remember when you punched that guy in the face?” Eddie stares at the wall when he asks, too nervous.

“Yeah. Fucking bruised my knuckles pretty good.”

“That guy… he was… my whole school knows I’m… gay.” It is incredibly hard to verbalize something you have tried so hard to repress.

“You’re gay?” Richie asks, eyebrows raised. Eddie can’t help but laugh, knocking Richie on the shoulder as Richie smiles some soppy grin. “Who knew?”

“Shut it. Anyways… that guy was going to tell you about this stupid thing that happened last year. I guess I didn’t want you to know because I was really dumb about it and I wanted you to think I’m, like, cool or whatever.” Eddie thinks Richie will take another stab at him, but all he feels is a hand on the small of his back and then a head hugging at his side.

“I think you’re the coolest, Spaghetti,” Richie murmurs.

“This senior—“ Eddie pauses. He wants to take it back. He regrets starting to tell Richie. There’s no way he’ll do it. He would rather do anything. “This senior outed me, that’s all.”

“Fucking asshole,” Richie says, and Eddie knows Richie must realize that isn’t the full story. “I’d kick his ass if I could.”

“Right. He’s off at some redneck college or something.”

“What was his name?” Richie asks, curiously.

“Kai,” Eddie answers, huffing. Richie doesn’t say anything. “Does anyone know you’re gay?”

Sitting up tall, Richie eyes Eddie’s face before kissing him once. “I’m not gay.”

“What?” Eddie wants to laugh. “Yeah you are. You just kissed me. We’ve been kissing this whole time.”

“Okay, yeah. But like I said, I’ve never liked anyone before,” Richie says. “I’ve never, you know, wanted to be with someone before you. You’re it for me, I think. Like, my dick is programmed for you and only you.” Eddie wants to roll his eyes but feels oddly flattered. Not knowing what to say, he tilts his head to the side and smiles softly. “See. That look drives me wild.”

(that _look_ )

(do I have a _look_?)

(is there an Eddie _look_ just like there’s a Richie _look_?)

“What time is the library with Ben?” Richie asks.

“Four,” Eddie says. Richie lies back down. Then he reaches for Eddie’s hand and pulls Eddie down beside him. Staring at Richie never gets tiring, and even like this, at an angle that would seem unflattering, he looks exceptionally wonderful. How can this relationship, built on beauty and secrecy, be wrong to the world around them? When he was younger, Eddie used to wish he were born in another time, because at least then he could hope it would be easier, that sexuality would one day be deemed fluid and his mother would love him unconditionally like a mother is supposed to. Upon meeting Richie, Eddie has begun wishing that again. What he would do to hold Richie’s hand in public. What he would do for a relationship without risk.

“Hold me?” Richie asks, breaking the silence. Eddie is surprised; he always thought he would be the one in need of being held. Richie turns around and Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s torso, pulling him close. He rests his head behind Richie’s mess of curls, taking him in. Their legs are tangled like old yarn. Brushing Richie’s hair back with his hand, Eddie notices a scar on the back of Richie’s neck. One Richie must often forget exists. It is a thin line, no more than two inches. Eddie’s eyes don’t leave the scar, and minutes pass quickly. Richie starts to snore. Eddie does not want to fall asleep; he never wants to forget how lying like this feels. And in this silence of the afternoon, eyes glued to what could be a scar born from the tip of a metal blade, Eddie suddenly knows that between the both of them, Richie is in need of arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on tumblr @oaf  
> kinda short chapter srry!!! lemme know what u think (fav line, fav part, somethin that made ur heart hurt)
> 
> here's the link to richie's playlist 2!!! https://goo.gl/AGd9RV


	13. Chapter 13

_2_. The playlist is practically tattooed to the back of Eddie’s skull. He listens to the mix the night he gets it. He plays the first track, blushing and giggling, because _you adored me before oh, my good looking boy._ And when the end nears, Eddie melts into his bedspread with furrowing brows, gnawing at his lip, thinking about _you're not who you are to anyone_ and _I'm not who I am to anyone these days, not at all._ When track two rolls around, Eddie is shocked by the upbeat and peculiar nature of the song. It is not something Richie would typically listen to, Eddie thinks. The chorus is striking. _Sometimes I want you to stay… I know it's a shame._ As he closes his eyes and feels the lyrics, Eddie realizes it becomes more like Richie. _The sun's almost too bright; I cannot get it right, the emptiness I feel… Sometimes the night cuts through me like a knife._

(it sure does, huh?)

The third track is by a familiar artist. With lyrics like _my heart is heavy and my eyes are red… there's forty different voices fucking with my head_ and _I don't like this side of me… and neither do you_ Eddie can understand why Richie decided to add this. It continues, almost enchanting, because with closed eyes and the song playing at full blast, it almost seems like Eddie is hearing a live performance.

Track four: the opening line is _I want you._ The whole song is unbelievably sensual, and Eddie feels a little flustered just imagining Richie hearing this song and thinking of him. Eddie ponders where Richie heard it, if he knew straight away it would go on this mix, or if he thought it would come later. The song fits them quite well; Eddie comes to learn. The lyrics are beautiful, and the vocals are overall breathtaking. As Eddie listens, he closes his eyes, imagines Richie singing it, on stage, no bass and no audience, just a microphone and Eddie. _It feels like there's oceans between me and you once again… We hide our emotions under the surface and try to pretend._

(this is exactly it)

(I’ll ask him to sing it to me)

(I _want_ him)

And then suddenly its _pitch black, pale blue_ and Eddie thinks he might tear up at just the rhythm of this song. Already, it is so sad. _Stitch by stitch I tear apart… if brokenness is a form of art I must be a poster child prodigy._

_I’m only honest when it rains._

(you never seem to be honest)

_An open book with a torn out page… and my ink’s run out._

(are you okay?)

_I want to love you but I don’t know how._

(I already love you)

(I know I do)

(I think I have for a while now)

Suddenly the phone rings downstairs. Eddie watches his door, but then he remembers.

(Richie!)

He scrambles to his feet and rushes downstairs, trying not to make more noise that might wake his mother. When he takes the phone off the wall, he lets out a sigh of relief, glad he didn’t miss it. He holds it up to his ear and waits for the person on the other end of the line to say something. There’s heavy breathing, but no words. Eddie doesn’t know if he should start first, but decides to anyway.

“Hey,” Eddie says. “Rich?”

“I—“ the word comes out choked, as if tangled in a sob. Then nothing.

“Rich? That’s you isn’t it? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, though he isn’t sure he wants an answer. As Richie’s breathing just gets more ragged, Eddie runs through what could be the matter. It could just be anxiety; Richie did say he was scared of the dark. But somehow, Eddie thinks he can hear in Richie’s breathing that this runs deeper.

(his scars)

(is someone hurting him?)

“Is someone hurting you?” Eddie doesn’t want an answer. _Please,_ he thinks as Richie stays silent, _please say no._ “Are you in pain? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“No,” Richie says, and Eddie has never known a lie until now.

“You don’t have to lie. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Nobody’s hurting me, Eddie.” Richie sounds unbelievably tired. “Just talk to me.”

“About what?” Eddie isn’t so sure.

“Anything. Just wanna hear your voice.”

So Eddie talks, on and on, until the sun is nearly up.

Eventually the weeks begin to go by quickly, and Eddie still hasn’t asked about the scar on the back of Richie’s neck. Eddie wouldn’t know how to start that conversation, or slip into an ongoing one, and is it even his place to ask? What if Richie thought Eddie was crossing a line? What if Richie lied again? Eddie doesn’t know if Richie ever stopped lying, but the risk of him continuing is worrisome. Perhaps Eddie will ask now, when they’re calm and alone and in _like_.

“You okay?” Richie asks, like he always does. “You’ve been staring at me for a while.” Eddie bites his lip and exhales deeply, drawing his eyes away from Richie. “I know I’m irresistible, but come on—“ He stops as Eddie lets out an airy laugh. “Why’re you so out of it?” The weather has gotten better, but Eddie’s cluttered mind has not. There is less snow; they are nearing March now. The two are sitting at the picnic bench outside of school, ditching last period like Eddie knows he shouldn’t. While he’s sitting on the table, towering above Richie, Richie is sitting on the bench. “Earth to _Eddie_.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking back at Richie. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“I know that feeling.” Richie hums. “You haven’t been sleeping or are classes just kicking your ass?”

“Classes. You know how it is.”

“I’m not so much of a studier,” Richie says, but Eddie knows he is lying. Richie is the most studious person Eddie knows. One of them, anyway. It’s just that for some reason Richie likes to put on a nonchalant persona. Eddie lets him get away with it. Richie takes Eddie’s hand and Eddie immediately retracts. “Ouch,” Richie says.

“Someone could see.”

“So what? You said your school knows you’re gay.”

“I’m not so fond of having the shit beat out of me, thanks.” Eddie huffs, and Richie has an odd look on his face. “Can I ask you something?” Eddie asks.

“Uh oh,” Richie says. “Shoot.”

“You’ve got this scar on the back of your neck. Not like your other ones. How did you get it?” As if he doesn’t know what Eddie is talking about, Richie lifts his arm and reaches around to the back of his neck, inspecting. Waiting for a reply, Eddie somehow already knows Richie will not spill. “I’ve just never seen a scar like it before, is all. You’ve got lots of scars.”

“Yeah. I dunno… I scar easily I guess.” Then Richie takes out his pack of cigarettes and steals one, slipping it between his lips and lighting up, seemingly to avoid saying anything more. He takes a drag and blows the smoke opposite Eddie. “Don’t you have any scars?”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie answers.

“Maybe you do, but you just forgot about them.” Richie quirks an eyebrow. “See? Easy to forget. Outta sight outta mind.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“Why?” A drag. “What’s in your sight that’s on your mind?”

“You.” As soon as Eddie says it, Richie sticks his cigarette to sleep on his bottom lip and chokes out a laugh, leaning back on the bench. “What’s so funny?” Eddie inquires, smiling.

“Nothing’s funny. You just make me…”

“Make you what?” Eddie asks, because he is so desperate to know. Richie just smiles at him, rubbing his chin, thinking. As much as Eddie loves to stare, Richie does his fair share. Just with one look, Eddie knows what Richie’s thinking, what his lips are aching to say; perhaps that’s because they have gotten to know each other better as the weeks have flown by, stealing the winter cold with it. _I want to kiss you,_ Richie is thinking, and Eddie knows because he is thinking it, too. _I would kiss you if I was able,_ Richie would say, if they were completely alone. _So kiss me,_ Eddie would reply, if he wasn’t so afraid.

“Wanna get out of here?” Richie asks. His tone of voice sounds familiar, like something Eddie has seen in movies.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “To Patsy’s or what?”

“I’ve got nothing new to sing.”

Eddie instantly thinks back to when he and Richie weren’t on speaking terms, when he passed by the big brown house and heard Richie singing of an ugly moon. “You haven’t been working on something?” Eddie presses, to see if Richie will budge. After taking a long drag, Richie flicks the ash off the butt of his cigarette.

“Nothing worth showing yet.”

“Is songwriting hard?” Eddie asks, curious. Music is something he admires, and he thinks it must be awfully challenging.

“Not when you’ve got inspiration,” Richie answers. As he stands up, he drops his cigarette to the ground.

“And do you? Have inspiration?”

There is a certain gleam to Richie’s eyes, lips pursed. “I’ve got better. A _muse_.”

(a muse)

(is he talking about me?)

(he must be talking about me)

( _me?_ a _muse_?)

When Eddie finally pulls himself from his thoughts, he sees Richie walking away, calling out, “you coming?” and Eddie stands up so quickly to rush to Richie’s side. Though Eddie’s not sure where they’re headed, he doesn’t feel like asking. Being with Richie has made Eddie accustom to surprises; he rather likes them. As if Richie can read Eddie’s mind, he shoots Eddie a charming grin and speaks: “I’m taking you out. Any movie. Your pick. Even that rom-com bullshit. On one condition.”

Eddie furrows his brows. “What’s the condition?”

“I get to hold your hand the whole way through.”

Blushing fiercely, Eddie finds himself looking away. “Shut up. You know we can’t do that.”

“We’ll sit in the corner, in a real dark place,” Richie negotiates. “C’mon, _please_ , Eds?”

(well when you say it like _that_ )

“Fine,” Eddie says.

Richie smiles, and the two walk in the direction of the movie theater. The person working the ticket booth gives them both an odd look, as if accusing them of skipping school, but Richie doesn’t give them a chance to ask; he talks their ear off until they ring the two boys up and pass them the tickets. Eddie picks some random movie because there’s nothing good playing; neither boy truly knows what the movie is about. Eddie isn’t even sure if they’ll do much watching.

(god)

(I’m getting so embarrassing)

After buying snacks, they head to the movie. There are not so many people, considering it is two PM on a school day, but there is still a handful able to witness two boys holding hands. “It’s okay,” Eddie hears Richie whisper as he leads them to the back left corner, the most uninhabited area. Richie sits closest to the wall, the back row, and Eddie plops down beside him. As soon as the movie starts, Richie takes Eddie’s hand in his, and Eddie is glad that the lights are down, that there is nothing but the reflection of the big movie screen illuminating his face, because surely in good lighting his strawberry cheeks could be seen. They’ve held hands plenty times before, but never like this, in public. The risk is painful, but it also ignites the adrenaline in Eddie’s system. Part of him wants to stand up and yell _fuck it! I’m holding a boy’s hand! I like boys! I think about them all the fucking time and I’m not ashamed!_ But part of him also wants to live until he’s twenty.

“You good?” Richie is leaned over in his seat, his lips near Eddie’s ear. Eddie turns to face him slightly, so that if Richie adjusted in the slightest, their mouths would be touching.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers back.

“I’m not,” Richie says.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, concerned.

“Nervous. Can you feel the sweat on my hands?” Eddie would blush if he weren’t already. “Fuck. You make me so nervous sometimes, Eds. You know that?”

“You? Nervous? That doesn’t sound possible.”

“Well believe it; the things you do to me…”

(the things you do to me)

( _the things you do to me_ )

“The things you do to me,” Eddie repeats. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“So kiss me,” Richie teases, tilting his head to the side as if preparing for Eddie to lay one on him. “Nobody’s watching. It’s just me and you.”

(but I’m scared)

(I’m scared but I don’t want to be)

“Kiss me later,” Richie says after Eddie is quiet for a long while. Then Richie takes a scoop of popcorn with his free hand and gestures to the movie. “I wanna see this part,” he says with a mouthful. And Eddie turns back to the movie, too, even though at this point perhaps it is too late for either boy to try and figure out what’s going on. The movie does not fly by, because with Richie’s fingers intertwined with his own, Eddie finds it difficult to focus on anything else. By the end of the film, Eddie is glad to leave, and he thinks Richie is, too. After Richie tosses out their trash, he bites his lip and takes out a smoke, not lighting it until they are outside.

“School’s out by now,” Eddie says, looking at his watch. It’s nearly four, but it doesn’t matter so much; his mother told him she would be home around supper because she has errands to run. “Wanna come to my house? My mom’s not home.”

(why did I _mention that_?)

“Oh, your mom’s not home, huh?” Richie teases. “In that case—‘m afraid not, Eds. You know I only come over to visit Mrs. K.” It’s been a while since Eddie has heard Richie’s British guy Voice.

“I thought you were done with that stupid voice,” Eddie comments, rolling his eyes.

“Never!” Richie cheers, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. He’s speaking normally now. “But for real, I’d love to come over. I love being alone with you. Lead the way, my love.”

“It’s not too late for me to take back the invitation.”

“Eds! You wound me!”

“Can it, Rich.”

They walk to Eddie’s house in comfortable silence, with comments from Eddie every once in a while and a puff of smoke from Richie in reply. They are the best they have ever been, Eddie thinks. Everything has been smooth lately. He doesn’t wish it to ever change. Walking like this, Eddie thinks Richie might be the simplest boy in the world; when he’s caught with a grin and warming cheeks, it seems as though there is nothing complicated about him. Sometime during the movie, Richie had put his glasses on. He hasn’t taken them off. Eddie hopes he doesn’t. As they enter Eddie’s home and take off their winter gear at the front door, Eddie eyes the scars on Richie’s pale arms. They head upstairs without a word. Eddie wonders what will happen, but his heart is already pounding as if it knows what is to come. And maybe it does.

Once in his room, Eddie twiddles with the blinds, deciding to close them after all. It is still light outside, but he doesn’t want to risk the neighbors seeing them. Privacy is safe, and makes it so that when Eddie approaches Richie slowly and bashfully, he is comfortable settling in Richie’s lap unannounced. Richie reaches up to brush Eddie’s hair flat against his head, something he does often, something Eddie cannot help but lean into. He sighs in content, and locks his arms around Richie’s thin waist.

“Can I kiss you?” Richie asks, his hand now on the back of Eddie’s neck. Eddie nods feverishly.

“Mhm. Please do,” Eddie says, and Richie closes the gap between them without another word. Their lips lace together like two loose threads. Richie’s lips are soft like pillows and bitter like nicotine. _I love your mouth,_ Eddie wants to say when Richie’s tongue traces against his own, _Never stop kissing me; if you do I think I’ll die._ They part only for a breath, only for a moment, and there is a tightness in Eddie’s abdomen that has become shockingly familiar since meeting with Richie. He wonders if Richie feels it, too, when Eddie traces his fingers against the sliver of Richie’s skin that his shirt reveals.

But suddenly Richie’s mouth is too hot, and Eddie needs to cool down, so he pushes Richie back, gently, not because there is discomfort but because he cannot think right with such a kiss. Richie pulls his mouth from Eddie’s and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand. _That’s my spit,_ Eddie thinks, and he swallows hard. “What’s wrong?” Richie asks, but nothing is wrong. Eddie holds Richie’s cheek with his left hand, admiring the curve in Richie’s furrowed eyebrows. Slowly, Eddie shakes his head, just watching Richie as Richie allows himself to be watched.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Eddie verbalizes. “I’ve just never done this before.”

(does making out not make you nervous?)

(how many people have you kissed like this?)

“Have you? Done this?” Eddie finds himself asking, suddenly interested in the answer. _You told me you only ever liked me,_ Eddie thinks but doesn’t say. Richie’s brows are still furrowed, confusion stuck to his face, his bottom lip tucked inside his mouth like a secret Eddie is desperate to expose.

“Never like this, but yeah.” Silence. Eddie doesn’t know what to say. “Are you mad?” Eddie shakes his head without realizing it. He is not mad, that is not a lie; he is just stumped. _Never like this_ , Richie says, like Eddie knows what _this_ is, like Eddie doesn’t spend every second of everyday pointlessly trying to piece together what _this_ is and why it is _like this._ Eddie has never been with anybody, but he wants to be, now, here, with Richie, in his gaze with a hand on his cheek. “You’re mad,” Richie concludes, because Eddie has been too quiet for too long.

“I’m not mad.” Hurt, perhaps, but never mad; hurt because he is jealous of those from Richie’s past, because he wants to know if they have memorized Richie’s body from top to bottom like he so often dreams of doing. Hurt because perhaps these other people—Richie’s _others—_ know Richie better than Eddie. “I’m not mad,” Eddie repeats, and he smiles as he softly exhales through his nose. Then he strokes Richie’s cheek some more and leans closer to press a sweet kiss to Richie’s puddle of blush. “ _Never like this_ ,” Eddie says, bringing Richie’s words to the shell of his ear. “What is _never like this?_ ”

“Never with someone I cared about,” Richie says, as if it is the simplest thing to deduct from the statement, and Eddie feels stupid. A hand slips to the small of Eddie’s back, roams across the open space of his white t-shirt, the movement accidentally tickling, though Eddie represses a tight chuckle. “Never with someone I spoke to, or wanted to be with. So… never with you.”

(never with _me_ )

(never with _you_ )

 _Never with you_ , Eddie wants to breathe it against Richie’s body, like they are the only two in existence, like they are the only two who will ever hear it. _Never with you, never with you,_ he thinks about it all day. _Never with you,_ he thinks when he wakes up the next morning. _Never with you,_ he thinks when he brushes his teeth. _Never with you_ as he opens his locker. _Never with you_ as he dozes off in class. _Never with you_ when Richie smiles at him at lunchtime. Never _with you, never with you, never with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also on @oaf on tumblr  
> drop me an ask or somethin if ya like!
> 
>  
> 
> tell me ur thoughts (or ur fav line i love to hear those) in the comments!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

The losers club is gathered for lunch, and Eddie’s finished playlist for Richie is sitting in the bottom of his book bag. The title of the playlist makes Eddie’s heart want to jump out of his chest. He still can’t stop thinking about it. He doesn’t know when he’ll give Richie the playlist, perhaps in a few days, or just when the time feels right. Eddie sits next to Richie, who’s talking with Stan and Beverly about something that happened to him in his nowhere previous town. Eddie’s only half-listening, because Richie’s hand is sleeping on his thigh, and focusing has never seemed this hard. It doesn’t even seem like Richie knows what he’s doing to Eddie. But Eddie is relieved to see Richie speaking with the losers. It’s March now. Speaking is getting easier for Richie. Eddie can tell. And he even _likes_ the losers. He talks about Stan when he’s not around.

But on the other hand, Richie has yet to open up about the big brown house. Eddie is curious, sure, but he also feels as though he is owed some kind of explanation. Why don’t they ever go over to Richie’s house? Are people not invited over? Would Richie get in trouble?

“Stan reminds me of an old friend,” Richie told Eddie one day. “I guess that’s why I like him best.”

Eddie wouldn’t ever tell the others Richie has a favorite.

When Eddie tunes back into the conversation, Richie is laughing at something Stan said. “Shut up,” Richie tells him. Ben cuts in with a comment Eddie doesn’t understand, and Richie just laughs harder. Eddie’s heart warms. Suddenly Richie turns to Eddie and says, “isn’t that funny?” Eddie blinks out of his dreamy state.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah. So funny.”

“You weren’t listening,” Richie states, still smiling. “Whatcha dreaming about?”

“Nothing. I have something for you. Later,” Eddie says.

“Oh?” Richie says, eyebrows raised, obviously intrigued. “And what kind of something is this?”

Eddie snickers and finds Richie’s hand on his thigh, intertwining their fingers. “Not that something, idiot.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll still like it.”

“I’m excited,” Richie says, and Eddie can’t help but smile.

“Guys, by the way, on Friday I’m bringing beer again,” Stan announces. Beverly groans and shoots him a feign look of disappointment. “Beverly? Am I hearing a complaint?”

“Shitty beer,” is all she says, grinning like she’s enjoying messing with Stan.

(she probably is)

“You get shitty, shitty beer,” Beverly expands. “Let me handle it this time. We’ll get some hard liquor. Nobody will remember anything about anything.” Eddie feels Richie’s hand tense on his thigh, so his eyes chase Richie. Richie looks uneasy at the mention of alcohol. “You should come, Rich. You seem like you’d be fun to drink with.” At the sound of his name, Richie looks at Beverly but doesn’t say anything.

“Unless you get more talkative when you’re drunk,” Stan teases. Richie just chuckles, definitely forced.

“Mike and I can do popcorn, then,” Ben says.

“And I-I’ll do candy,” Bill states. “Richie, m-my house at Friday. Six. You can s-sleepover, too.”

“Sorry,” Richie says. “I’m busy Friday.”

(no you’re not)

“N-No worries. Another time,” Bill says, perhaps to make sure Richie is aware the invitation still stands. Then the school bell rings, signaling it’s time for class. As everyone starts to stand up, Eddie pulls on Richie’s hand.

“What? You wanna ditch?” Richie asks.

“Just sit with me for a sec,” Eddie says. He looks to the rest of his friends and waves goodbye. “I’ll see you guys later.” Richie waves, too.

“Have fun,” Mike says, throwing out his food.

“But not too much fun,” Stan adds, pointing a finger. Richie can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Sure,” Richie says. Once everyone is gone, Richie looks to Eddie expectantly. “What’s up?” Eddie puts his head on Richie’s shoulder and Richie leans his head against Eddie’s. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I just wanted to sit here for a few minutes.”

“Okay…” Richie sounds unconvinced. “You sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we still hanging out after school?” Richie asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers. Taking his head off Richie’s shoulder, he looks into Richie’s eyes and calmly asks: “Why don’t we ever go over to your house?” He isn’t angry, just curious. And Richie doesn’t reply right away, he just stares at Eddie with this stupid look on his face, like he’s caught off guard with the question and can’t use his wit to think of a reply fast enough.

“Uh.” Richie blinks. “I dunno. Why? You wanna come over or something?”

“Well, yeah. You’ve been to my house plenty of times,” Eddie replies. “Unless your parents would get mad, like if you’re not allowed to have friends over.”

“No, they wouldn’t get mad.” There’s a brief pause. “Huh. Friends,” Richie says, like an afterthought, and Eddie wonders why he always does that—why he repeats _friends_ whenever Eddie says it like the word is foreign. But maybe it is. “Are we friends?” he asks.

“Of course,” Eddie says, then considers. “Something more, maybe.”

“Something more.” Richie thinks about it. “We’re probably something more, right? Unless friends think about other friends’ di—“

“Something more for sure,” Eddie cuts Richie off before he finishes his sentence and leaves Eddie a fumbling mess. “Something more like what?”

“What do you want to be?” Richie asks.

(yours)

(forever)

(undoubtedly)

(marry me?)

“When girls date guys they’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” Richie thinks out loud when Eddie will not. “I guess that makes guys that date guys boyfriend and boyfriend.”

“We’re boyfriends, then,” Eddie says, real smug.

“And proud of it!” Richie says. He kisses Eddie’s knuckles. There is a brief look of panic that flashes across Eddie’s face. Richie grins sheepishly. “Sorry. Got excited.” Eddie mumbles a quiet, “It’s okay,” before saying they should probably head to class now. Richie nods and lets go of Eddie’s hand. It’s funny how a hand is nothing more than a hand when there is nobody holding it.

…

It is after school, and Richie is smoking a cigarette while waiting for Eddie. As Eddie approaches, he smiles and thinks to the first track he put on the mixtape for Richie. It is almost too perfect a song, if such a thing existed. Richie immediately steps out his cigarette upon Eddie’s arrival, and slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders casually. Oh, how they would kiss each other hello if there were nobody to judge them.

“Hey,” Richie says. “Missed ya.”

“I missed you, too,” Eddie replies, and he can’t stop thinking about how Richie’s mouth would taste like cigarette smoke if they kissed right now. Eddie wouldn’t mind. “Where are we going?”

“Just for a walk?” Richie suggests. “We can go to the park to hangout. We don’t always need to go to your house. I know it’s hard with your mom and all.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.

“Hard for your mom, I mean. She must get so jealous. She talk about me a lot?” Richie jokes, grinning. Eddie shoves Richie away and Richie only laughs. “Aw, c’mon, Eds. You know I’m kidding. You’re the only one for me.”

(never with you)

“I haven’t heard you sing in a while,” Eddie says after a few moments of quiet. They’re almost to the park now; it is not that far a walk from the high school. “I like hearing you sing.”

“What else do you like about me?” Richie asks cheekily.

“Honestly? Not much.”

(everything)

(there’s not one thing I don’t love about you)

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie bites back a chuckle. “But seriously, are you still singing?”

“Eddie, Eddie,” Richie says, and there’s that _look._ Eddie’s missed it. “I won’t ever stop singing. Singing is like a lifeline to me. Always has been.”

“You need one? A lifeline?” Eddie asks.

“More like needed. But doesn’t everybody need something to get them along?” Richie asks, and Eddie doesn’t know so he just shrugs and mumbles something incoherent. Richie doesn’t pay it too much mind and instead begins to whistle a tune somewhat familiar to Eddie. Eddie tries to think back to where he might have heard it, maybe once at Patsy’s or on a mix—but then he realizes it’s the tune of the song Richie was singing from his bedroom window.

(ugly moon)

“What’re you whistling?” Eddie asks. “A new song?”

(please tell me)

“You my biggest fan or something?” Richie jokes.

(I’ll always be your biggest fan)

“Just wondering, is all. Don’t get cocky,” Eddie replies as they walk over to the swing set in the park. There is nobody around, just them, just how they like it. Taking a seat on the swing, Richie takes out a cigarette.

“I’ve been sitting on a piece for a while,” Richie admits, lighting his cigarette. Eddie sits down on the swing next to Richie and listens eagerly; he is so desperate to know. “Like… ever since I was thirteen or some shit. I don’t know if it’s any good, though. The lyrics are just… eh. Needs a lot of work. Once it’s good enough though… I’ll show you. Okay?” He takes a drag, glancing at Eddie. “I just don’t know if it’s something I should be proud of yet, so I don’t want to show anybody.”

“Why shouldn’t you be proud of it?” Eddie asks because he wants to know, not to be invasive. He hopes Richie doesn’t take it the wrong way. But Richie scratches the back of his neck and sticks his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, seemingly thinking about the question.

“Hard to explain,” Richie finally answers. Eddie just stares. “I think that it’s a song not like anything I’ve written before. It’s about me rather than you, or somebody else, you know?” Eddie doesn’t really know, but he nods anyway. “Yeah. So.” He does not finish his thought, just continues to look off into the distance, his mind now elsewhere. As Eddie bites his lip, he wonders if Richie is comfortable singing acapella, because surely that is a whole other experience than him playing at Patsy’s.

“If I wanted you to sing to me right now, would you?” Eddie breaks the silence.

“Oh, _Eddie_ ,” Richie says, and Eddie wishes he could breathe. There’s that charming smile Richie always wears, the one Eddie has always loved. “How could I say no?”

“That song on the mix you gave me. Oceans. When I heard it I thought about how much I wanted to hear you sing it,” Eddie admits. Perhaps if they were not boyfriends he would feel embarrassed saying all this. The slightest bit of pink puddles across Richie’s cheeks, and if Eddie were to call him out he knows Richie would blame the color on the cold. “So will you? Sing to me?”

(sing to me)

(sing to me, Richie)

“Sure.” And then Richie stands up. “Let’s go to Patsy’s. I think I know the chords—“

“No,” Eddie says, standing up as well. “Right here. Right now.”

“What’s in it for me?” Richie asks, eyebrows raised. And Eddie just _looks_ at him, and Eddie is sure it’s that _look._ That look that says so much. That look that Richie owns. “Okay. Sit. Let me serenade you, my Spaghetti.” As Eddie sits down, he watches Richie with excited eyes and bites his lip, eager. “It’s gonna be weird, without my bass.”

“It’s okay.” Eddie pushes his feet lightly, pumping the swing and gaining a little momentum, just something to keep him busy as the butterflies in his stomach squirm. “If I didn’t like weird I wouldn’t like you.”

“Okay,” Richie says, and then he pulls out his cigarette pack as if just to have something to hold, something to ground him. And he sings the chorus of Oceans, because it is the most powerful part of the song and the one Eddie so often dreams about. The wind supplies the instrumental to this acapella performance. And by the time it’s over, by the time Richie is out of breath from his raspy singing, Eddie is already rising to his feet, swift. And Eddie grabs Richie’s face and kisses him real hard, like this is the last time they will ever see each other. The box of cigarettes that Richie is holding falls to the ground as Richie brings his hands up to hold Eddie’s waist. Here they are, kissing, in public; it is no longer just a fantasy. Eddie is not thinking. It’s hard to think around Richie.

It is easy to forget how good kissing someone feels, and Eddie finally has that privilege of forgetting; if he could, Eddie would kiss Richie for the first time again. Richie mumbles something into Eddie’s mouth, but neither are too worried about being coherent in a moment like this. Eddie loves Richie. He doesn’t know when he started he just knows he cannot stop.

Richie pulls back to breathe, shocked. “Eddie,” he says.

(never with you)

(never with _you_ )

He wants to say it out loud. He can’t help but say it out loud.

“Never with you,” Eddie mumbles, kissing Richie again. Eddie simply cannot find the time to be worried about witnesses. Every part of Eddie is begging him not to let go, not to ruin this moment because right now, it feels like there will never be a time quite like this. “I’ve never liked someone as much as I’ve liked you. Never.”

Then there’s the sound of a car going by, and suddenly nothing is okay.

Eddie pushes Richie back like he’s got the plague. Richie lets him.

“It’s okay—“ the first thing Richie says.

“Who was that?” Eddie whips his head in the direction of the car, but it’s gone now. “Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit fuck. Oh fuck! Do you think they saw?”

“Eds, Eds, calm down.” The words rush out of Richie’s mouth as he steadies a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We kissed in front of your house that one time and nobody saw. It’s fine,” Richie says, eyes trained on Eddie. “It’s fine,” he says again, as if Eddie did not hear the first time, and maybe he didn’t.

“I can’t breathe. I don’t think I can breathe, Rich.”

Everything was so great, and then just like that, the world seems to be ending. Eddie shoves his hand into his pocket and grips his inhaler.

“Yes you can, Eddie. Just breathe. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

( _“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Kai says. Eddie thinks he means it._ )

“Where’s your inhaler?” Richie asks. Then he shakes Eddie’s shoulder as if to remind Eddie of his presence. “Eddie. Talk to me.” Eddie says nothing, but retrieves his inhaler from his pocket and he can breathe. He can breathe but he wants to cry. So he does, without meaning to. He breaks down into tears and crouches down into the snow, not wanting to show his face to Richie.

“I-I’m so sick of this!” he cries. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever cried so loud before. “I can’t do it anymore, Richie. My heart hurts so fucking much.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Richie’s voice is gentle as he settles down into the snow next to Eddie. There is no movement from Richie, not even to reach for Eddie’s hand, and Eddie is oddly grateful. Maybe Richie knows Eddie doesn’t want to be touched right now, somehow. “Why does your heart hurt?”

“The hiding,” Eddie clarifies. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m so sick of hiding it, because you’re so great and I-I like you s-so much.”

“So don’t hide it,” Richie says, like it’s that easy. “Let ‘em know.”

“But I’m scared,” Eddie admits. “I’m sick of being scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared.”

(he’s so great)

(how can someone this great even be real?)

“Even you?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve been scared for most of my life,” Richie says. He is still out of Eddie’s sight, but Eddie imagines Richie must hold a palm to his lips, like he is worried about letting too much slip, caressing his face gently. “But I’m getting better. Everyone can get better. That’s one of the few things I’ve ever been sure of.” Finally Eddie looks at him. And Richie reaches out to brush Eddie’s hair down, because it’s always sticking up and curling out of place, and old habits are hard to break. “One day we won’t have to live like this. That’s the second thing I’m sure of.”

“What’s the third?” Eddie sniffles, wiping his runny nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“That I am so lucky to have you in my life,” Richie says. It’s quiet for some time; they exchange looks of longing and wanting. Then Richie says, “let me walk you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know whatchaaa think  
> im gonna get better at replying to reviews i promise


	15. Chapter 15

When Eddie arrives home from the park, his mother is waiting for him. He does not know what exactly to do under her gaze, so he mumbles “Hello” and slips off his shoes and jacket. As he slings his backpack back over his shoulder, his mother crosses her arms and blocks his way to the staircase. Eddie wants to ask what he did wrong, but there is a rumble deep within his gut, of shame and desperation, and he just knows. There is much to explain, he realizes, much to defend, but all he wants to do is see if Richie is still outside, and get one last good look at him, that _look,_ because he won’t be allowed to see him anymore.

“I have never been more ashamed of you, Edward,” she says, and Eddie thinks he might start crying again. He holds his ground as best he can, which is still not good enough. “You are _disgusting._ ”

(act like you don’t know)

(act like you’ve never kissed a boy)

“W-What?” Eddie asks, and he has never been a good liar when it comes to his mother. “What are you talking about, Ma?”

“Leslie saw you and that _Richie_ boy kissing in the park today. And don’t act like it’s not true. Leslie wouldn’t lie about that; at least _she_ would save me the embarrassment.” Leslie is their neighbor—an old woman with too poor of ears and too big a mouth. Eddie’s mouth runs dry, and he thinks about running. Just running out the house, running to Richie, running away forever. That would be easier than facing this bigger issue. “I knew he was no good. I just didn’t know he was a homosexual. I am _disgusted._ ”

(stop saying that)

(it’s not disgusting)

(I’m not disgusting)

“T-That’s not true. You can’t even trust Leslie; she’s like eighty years old! Maybe she saw two other kids! Maybe they weren’t even kissing!” Eddie says, but he knows he should save his breath. “Momma, you can’t possibly believe her over me. Does that even sound like something I would do? Do you know how many _germs_ there are in a person’s mouth? Let alone a _boy’s_ mouth?” When in doubt, refer to the medical consequences of a situation. Eddie knows that when arguing with his mother.

“I can’t look at you right now,” Sonia says, and suddenly Eddie realizes she looked away sometime during her scolding. “I did not raise you like this. This is sick. You’re sick. Go upstairs. I can’t even look at you.”

(stop saying that)

“You’re not right,” she says.

(no _you’re_ not right)

“Go!” She screams. Eddie rushes up the stairs. He slams the door to his room, sinks down it, doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where his mother stands. _I’ll have to make her think Leslie is lying, somehow,_ Eddie thinks, but he is at a loss for how to go about it. Why must everything be so complicated? Why can he not hold Richie’s hand unapologetically? Why is his mother so _sick?_

Eddie stays in the rest of the day. He is afraid to leave his room and his mother has not come upstairs to check on him. He does not listen to _1_ or _2_ ; he lies across his bedspread like he has never known anything else, like his heart is not torn in two and aching to give Richie a call. Around the time when supper is usually done, Eddie is expecting a knock from his mother, but nothing comes. Eddie goes to sleep without dinner, wakes up without breakfast, and the anxiety eating him up can somehow only be soothed with a gentle reminder of _never with you._ When he gets downstairs with his book bag, his mother is sitting at the table reading the newspaper.

“I’m going to school,” Eddie says to her, gripping his bag strap with a tight fist. “I wish you’d listen to me, Momma. I’ll see you after school.”

“Come straight home,” she says without looking up from her paper. “Don’t make me come looking for you. If you even _think_ about seeing that—Richie, boy—” Eddie doesn’t want to hear it, so he cuts her off with a simple: “Okay. Bye.” Eddie leaves with only one arm in his jacket sleeve; he cannot bear to be inside his house anymore. It is too obvious he is not wanted. The walk to school is cold and lonely, and Eddie thinks he will start crying if he sees Richie. Because after losing his mother, Eddie cannot bear to think about losing Richie, too.

The day moves slowly, and in Math, when Richie looks at Eddie, his head on the table, the most Eddie can muster is a close-mouthed smile before he turns away. He knows Richie must be confused, but Sonia told Eddie to keep his distance, and so distance he shall keep. Perhaps when he goes home after school she will allow him to explain the bullshit lie he’s been thinking over, or listen to his pleads of how Leslie is a nosy old woman who can’t see past her own two hands. As Math ends, Eddie feels a tug on his sleeve, and he almost ignores it.

“What is up with you today?” Richie asks. “I thought I was the one with the running away problem.”

“Nothing. Everything is fine,” Eddie says. “I just need to get to class.”

“You have lunch next. Everyone does,” Richie says, eyebrows raised. “What’s really up?” And Eddie just thinks about last night, how he was cold and alone and just wanted to be with Richie, and Richie’s looking at him like _that_ and Eddie can’t even try to fake it anymore. “Hey, hey,” Richie says, huddling closer because he must see the tears already forming in Eddie’s eyes. “Let’s go to the bathroom, okay?” They rush to the bathroom, and upon entering Richie turns around and locks the bathroom door. Eddie didn’t even know the door could be locked, what with all the stalls. As Eddie sniffles, he goes to the sink and rinses his eyes.

“I hate fucking crying,” he says, choked. “All I’ve done lately is cry.”

“Crying is good,” Richie says, rubbing Eddie’s back. Eddie wishes he weren’t soft for Richie’s touch. “It’s actually really healthy to cry. To get it out of your system, all that shit… You gonna tell me what’s making you so upset?”

“My mom,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m so mad and sad.”

“What did she do?”

“Fuck!” Eddie hits the sink with his palm. The sting feels nice. He just wants to hit everything. “She’s so… she called me sick, Richie. Us. She knows.”

“How?”

“My fucking neighbor snitched. She was probably in the car that drove by. I don’t even know. But she’s practically _blind_ so my mom shouldn’t even _believe her_!”

“Okay, okay,” Richie says, taking back his touch. As he leans against the sink, next to Eddie, he crosses his arms and puts on what must be his thinking face. “Okay, let’s think. There’s a way to fix this.”

“There is no way.” Eddie groans. “You should have _seen_ the way she looked at me, Rich. Like I was nothing. Like I was below nothing—the fucking dog shit on the bottom of her shoe! I’m so fucking sick of being nothing!”

“You’re too mad to think straight.”

“More like too queer to think straight,” Eddie says, letting out an angry laugh. He expects Richie to tell him _that was a good one_ , but Richie just looks serious. “I’m sorry. I just—“ Richie cuts him off with a tight embrace and a hand in his hair. Eddie melts instantly. Despite the many insecure thoughts swishing within Eddie’s mind, it is comfortably easy to feel safe within Richie’s arms. _There is nothing wrong with this_ , Eddie knows as he wraps his arms around Richie’s waist, _why can’t the world see that?_

“I just wish _I_ could say it. I wish people would stop taking that from me; it should be my decision who knows. I wish people were different,” Eddie mumbles into Richie’s shoulder, head down.

“You’re right,” Richie says. Then he shushes Eddie. They stand there, swaying in each other’s arms, until a knock comes at the door.

“You are not allowed to lock the bathroom door,” a man says. “I’m getting the janitor.” There are vague footsteps, and Eddie pulls away from Richie, wiping at his face.

“We better go before they unlock the door,” Eddie says. “Sorry for getting your shirt wet.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Richie says with a wide grin. He puts an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and kisses his head. “Let’s get going.”

“Hang on,” Eddie says. “I-I’m gonna try and convince my mom my neighbor was wrong. I don’t know if it’ll even work but, I can’t have her knowing I’m gay. She’ll send me away to one of those conversion camps, or even worse—“

“It’s fine,” Richie says. Eddie can’t read his face. “No worries.”

“I just think maybe we should put this on pause, for a while, so I can try and talk some sense into her,” Eddie says. Still, Richie is as blank as an empty book. “Just for a little bit. No kissing or anything. I need her to think we’re just friends.” Richie nods, taking his arm off Eddie’s shoulders.

“You set the pace. I’ll follow,” Richie says, and Eddie feels like Richie is upset.

(why wouldn’t he be?)

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Eddie clarifies, because his heart is beating so quickly and he wishes he didn’t have to do this. “Please don’t think that.”

“Of course not.”

“Are you mad?” Eddie asks, worried.

(I know you’re mad)

“I’m f—“ Richie pauses, laughs, looks away, and then turns his head back to Eddie. “I’m not thrilled.”

(he didn’t lie)

“But do what you have to do,” Richie states. Eddie doesn’t know what to say. “It’ll be hard not kissing you anymore.”

“You, too.” And then they leave, hands off, as _friends._

…

Days pass and it is March sixth. Springtime. Everything is so pretty, and Richie is no different. Though the days have gone by quickly, Eddie has not forgotten Richie’s kiss. It is hard to think he ever will. They have been friendly, not hanging out as much, as Eddie had a brief talk with his mother. He thinks she believes him, about Leslie having been wrong about seeing Richie and Eddie kiss, but it has always been hard to tell these things with Sonia. Richie seems okay, but it has also been hard to tell. He smiles at Eddie like Eddie is his world, but they don’t fool around anymore. They were boyfriends for a short amount of time, but they both know this is only a temporary end, that they are very much not done.

They are at lunch when Beverly approaches the table. Richie is sitting next to Stan, across from Eddie, and Mike knows something is up, though Eddie refuses to spill. Beverly is smiling ear to ear, absolutely beaming, as she slides into a seat next to Ben.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’d do better than Stan’s shitty beer,” Beverly announces, slamming her hand on the picnic table. “A party. In two weeks. We’re all invited. You’re welcome.”

“Okay. I admit my defeat,” Stan says, shrugging. “Who’s party is it?”

“Greta Keene’s—I know, I know! We don’t like her but I played nice and helped her friend with History and got the invite through her.”

“Greta?” Eddie spits. “No way.”

Richie seems to sense Eddie’s discomfort. “What’s with Greta?”

“She bullied me,” Eddie says, shifting. “There’s no way I’m going. You guys feel free, but I’m out. I don’t even like parties, anyway.”

“T-That was in m-m-middle school,” Bill says.

(no it wasn’t)

(you guys don’t know the half of it)

“B-Besides, w-w-we probably won’t even s-see her.”

“Ed, you don’t have to go if you don’t want,” Mike says, bumping Eddie’s knee. “I don’t even know if I’m gonna go. Have to get the OK from my grandpa first.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you guys,” Beverly says. “Right, Ben? We all need to go or else it’s only half the fun!”

“I think Eddie and Mike should do what they want,” Ben replies after having been dragged into the conversation.

“What about you, Richie? You’ll come, won’t you?” Beverly asks, looking at Richie. Richie glances from Eddie over to Beverly and bites his lip, shrugging. “Guys, come _on._ I was so excited to go with everyone but now almost half of you are bailing. Stan? Bill?”

“I’m down,” Stan says. “Mike? Please come?”

“M-Mikey,” Bill coos, grinning. “Mikey _,_ _please_.”

“I need to ask my grandpa!” Mike chuckles. “But I’ll make sure to plead.” The school bell rings and everyone starts packing up.

“Eddie? Rich? Just think about it. Okay? We all want you there,” Beverly says. Eddie nods and stands up, and Richie follows.

“Hey, wait,” Richie says. Eddie looks at him.

“What?” Eddie asks, and Richie is so close. Too close for friends. Eddie glances back at the other losers, who are already heading inside.

“Who’s Greta Keene?” Richie asks.

“I already said: she bullied me.”

“In middle school? Or now?” Eddie can feel Richie’s hot breath on his lips.

“Friends don’t stand like this,” is all Eddie says, because he doesn’t want to answer the question. Taking a step back, Richie purses his lips. Eddie starts walking away and says, “We should get inside.”

“I’ll go if you go,” Richie says. Eddie stops walking.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“To the party. I’ll go if you go.”

“You know it’ll be after dark, right? Nobody throws parties in daylight.”

“Yeah. I know.” Richie shifts his weight from one foot to another. “I’m getting better.”

(getting better)

(getting better at what?)

(why are you so vague all the time?)

“Sure,” Eddie says, because he figures Richie will bail. “I’ll go if you go.”

“So then I guess we’re both going,” Richie says. “Better tell Bev.”

“Yeah. Better tell her.” Richie begins walking away. Eddie wants to call after him; the words _I miss you_ are sleeping on the tip of his tongue. Because just seeing Richie in school isn’t enough anymore. Eddie has become dependent and he is unashamed. “I miss seeing you,” Eddie says loudly, not as a shout, but just loud enough for Richie to hear, which he does. Richie turns around, still walking, and raises his arms, his jean jacket loose on his thin frame.

“You’re seeing me!” Richie is grinning now, widely, with teeth, a small chuckle escaping from between his lips. Eddie gets slight déjà vu to their first interaction.

( _Richie begins to walk backwards toward the school building, grinning toothily. “See ya around, Eds! By the way, I like that game we play!”_ )

“You know what I mean.” Even Eddie can’t help a giggle from bubbling up.

“I know,” Richie replies, walking a bit closer to Eddie again. They are still some distance apart, enough to hear. “Come over later.” Tilting his head to the side, Eddie is confused. Richie says this so nonchalantly it seems as though Eddie has been to Richie’s house before. “Yeah, you heard me right. I meant to my house,” Richie says, most likely noticing the shock surfaced on Eddie’s face.

“Friends, Richie.”

“Friends hangout. Just because I’m inviting you over doesn’t mean I wanna go down on you.” Eddie’s eyes dart to the side at just the thought of that, his cheeks reddening. He can’t look at Richie, not like this, not without a winter coat to hide the blush spreading from his cheeks to his neck to absolutely everywhere. “Maybe that’s just a bonus.”

“ _That_ is what I’m talking about,” Eddie sputters, embarrassed, flushing. It is still impossible to make eye contact. “You can’t just _say_ stuff like that. Geez. Didn’t anybody ever teach you how to talk normally?”

Something flashes across Richie’s face, but then he is back. “It’s all part of the Richie Tozier charm. I know you like it. How else would I have roped you into kissing me so much?”

(well)

(he’s right)

“We’re so late for class,” Eddie thinks out loud. “My mom will be mad at me. I better go.”

“I’ll wait for you after school, then?”

“I dunno, Rich. If my mom finds out—“

“Just lie,” Richie says. “As if you haven’t been lying to your mom for the past four months.”

“Fine. Just this once.” Eddie sucks on his bottom lip. “I’ll have to call my mom and get her to think I’m studying at the library or something. Ben will cover for me, probably.”

“Sure, sure,” Richie says. “Go on now. You’ll be really late.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Eddie asks.

“Nope,” Richie says, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He pulls one out, real swift, and lights it effortlessly. “Not if you’re coming over. Gonna go clean my room, hide all my porn magazines—get my room real ready for ya, Eddie Spaghetti. I’ll still meet you after school.”

“You’re gross.” But Eddie laughs. “I’ll see you later.”

…

By the time Eddie is out the school doors (and after he’s called his mother and told her he’d be at the library for an hour, much to her dismay), Richie is waiting for him. Eddie smiles and Richie smiles back, “Hey,” Eddie says to him, breathless, because it is always hard to breathe around Richie. “How was home? You get everything ready?”

“You betcha!” Richie says, British. They both start walking in the direction of the big brown house. “Come along, my love, let me lead the way to my humble abode.”

“There’s that voice again.”

“A Richie original! You love it. Everybody loves a good Brit,” Richie says. “Can I put my arm around you or are friends not allowed to touch?”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie blushes.

“Wow, haven’t heard that one in a while,” Richie says, talking normally. “Thought maybe you forgot about it.”

“Yeah right.”

When they reach Richie’s house, they walk up the porch slowly, Richie up front, as if he is reconsidering letting Eddie inside. But he pulls to a stop and yanks out his keys anyways, unlocking the front door carefully. Saying nothing, Richie takes off his shoes and puts them next to the doormat, gesturing for Eddie to do the same. Everything is real quiet, but then a bundle of giggles sound from one of the rooms in the house.

“Huh,” Richie says.

“What?” Eddie asks.

(who’s home?)

“Nothing,” Richie replies. As soon as their shoes are off, Richie motions for Eddie to follow him into what looks to be a dining room. There are two kids sitting at the table. They are giggling to themselves, arts in crafts scattered amongst the cheap wood. Upon Richie’s entrance, the girl with the red hair and pigtails jumps up from her seat. “Hey Junie,” Richie says as the girl hugs at his legs. He’s chuckling, shooting Eddie an embarrassed look. Richie pats Junie’s back and offers the boy, who Eddie remembers to be _Jacob_ from so long ago, a small smile. “Hey Jacob.”

“Richie!” Junie cheers. “I didn’t know you’d be home so soon. And _you!_ ” Junie points a finger at Eddie, her crooked teeth on full display. “I know you!” Eddie is nervous under a young girl’s stare; he never has been very good at talking to children. “Jacob hit you that one time—with the snowball. I remember! I’ve got an awfully good memory. Did you know that? What’s your name, mister?”

“This is Eddie,” Richie says as Junie lets go and goes back to her seat at the table. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend, huh? I have some of those.”

“I bet you have lots.” Seeing Richie interact with children makes Eddie’s heart throb. He would go upstairs and kiss Richie senseless if they weren’t put on pause. ”Hey I thought you guys had that after school thing today?”

(so he was planning on us being alone)

“Yeah but, it got cancelled. Our teacher is absent,” Junie answers. Eddie wonders why Jacob doesn’t talk so much. He’s just sitting there, coloring. “Do you guys wanna make friendship bracelets? Linda bought me lots of new yarn for my birthday. I’ve got so many colors, Richie! You just have to see. We can teach Eddie how to do it, too, Richie, since you’re better at it now.” Then she looks to Eddie and grins. “He wasn’t so good at it before. He had me teach him.” Eddie just smiles at her. Then he remembers the rainbow friendship bracelet Richie made him for Christmas. Eddie’s hand instantly goes to his wrist where it lies.

“We actually have to go upstairs, Junie.”

“For what? A birthday celebration? I’ll make you something extra nice, Richie! You’ll love it. I’ll use all my new colors.”

(birthday celebration?)

Eddie eyes Richie confusedly.

(is it his birthday?)

(did I not even know?)

(why didn’t he tell me?)

“Thanks. I’ll love it,” Richie says, and he goes around the table to peer over Jacob’s shoulder. “Whatcha drawing, Jacob?” Jacob just shrugs. Richie ruffles his hair, causing a small smile to surface to Jacob’s lips. “All right, well, we’re heading upstairs. Come on, Eddie Spaghetti.” Junie giggles at the nickname.

“Bye, Eddie Spaghetti!”

“Bye guys,” Eddie says. He will ask about Richie’s birthday once they are upstairs. Once they’re out of the living room he mumbles, “Your influence…”

“They love me,” Richie says, smiling. “Looks like you all three have something in common, huh, Eds?”

(yeah)

(I guess we do)

Eddie just scoffs. “You wish. And don’t call me that.”

Richie’s room is not anything like Eddie imagined. There are two beds, pressed against opposite sides of the wall. The walls are a pale blue, and there is nothing taped up, no hint of personalization at all. There is a bass and a guitar leaning at the foot of one of the beds, probably Richie’s. There is a closet door, shut, an overhead light and two more small lights propped up on a side table. Beside the small lights sits Eddie’s Christmas card. Overall, the room is bland. Eddie wonders why.

“Not what you expected?” Richie asks, going over to sit on his bed.

“Not really, no,” Eddie says honestly. “Nothing on the walls?” Richie doesn’t say anything; he just stares at Eddie. “It’s cool.” Eddie isn’t sure what else to say.

“It’s not,” Richie replies, stretching his arms over his head. Eddie tries not to let his gaze wander to the sliver of skin that Richie’s shirt reveals in the midst of his stretching. “It’s okay. I know it’s empty. I have yet to unpack.”

“You moved here in December.”

“Yeah. I know. I procrastinate,” Richie says. Then it is quiet.

“Is it your birthday?” Eddie asks softly. “Junie asked if we were having a birthday celebration.”

Richie bites his lip. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” As silly as it sounds, Eddie is hurt. Is he not important enough to know? Did Richie not want him to know?

“It’s not a big deal, that’s all.”

(who hurt you?)

(anything involving you is a big deal)

“Of course it’s a big deal,” Eddie says. “Why wouldn’t it be a big deal?”

Richie shrugs, unbothered. “It just isn’t. No biggie. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything by not telling you.”

“Well, are you doing anything?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Probably not. It’s just another day.”

(no its _not_ )

“We’ll do something, okay? We can go see a movie, do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Richie asks, his voice teasing.

(literally _whatever_ you want)

(you won’t even have to ask twice)

“Depends what you have in mind,” Eddie says. He sits beside Richie on the bed.

“What do people usually do on their birthday?” Richie asks, serious. Eddie can almost hear his heart breaking. He reaches for Richie’s hand. Richie cannot stop looking at where Eddie’s thumb rubs against his knuckles, slow and gentle, almost nurturing. “I thought we were _friends_.”

“Friends hold hands,” Eddie says, but most don’t. The only friends that hold hands are friends that are ready to be something more. “Besides, nobody can see us here.”

“You’re right.” Richie exhales deeply and looks away from Eddie. “I want to kiss you so fucking badly.”

(god me too)

(I want to kiss you every second of every day)

“Friends don’t kiss,” Richie says, before Eddie can say it. “I know, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t think about it, though.”

“Yeah. I guess it doesn’t,” Eddie replies, and he thinks his heart skips a beat at the sight of that _look._ “Maybe the thought can be enough for a while.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Richie says like he so often does, in the same tone of voice he uses to say _my love._ “Thoughts will never be enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed thanks for all the love on twitter it makes me happyyyyy


	16. Chapter 16

Today is Richie’s birthday. It is also the day Eddie will give Richie a mixtape, because Richie has been speaking the language of music fluently and Eddie is trying to learn for him. Eddie has put so much thought into the mix; he’s filled it with songs that remind him of Richie, that remind him of their time together and apart. It is easy to be reminded of Richie, Eddie realized during the making of the mix.

Eddie has the day planned. He has told his mother that he will be going over to Ben’s house, and even got Ben to play along by talking to Sonia over the phone. Richie and Eddie will have a picnic in the woods (which Ben, Stan, and Bill will help set up), where there are nothing but trees and bushes to judge them. It is the same spot that they ran to when Richie punched that jerk square in the jaw. It will be the best birthday Richie has ever had. Eddie will make sure of it. They are at school now, in Math, and Eddie has not spoken to Richie yet. Neither will stop staring and Eddie is sure his cheeks are red. Richie smiles crookedly. Eddie loves it.

It is already a special day—Richie’s birthday—Eddie knows this, but he thinks Richie may know it, too; for the first time, his head is not on his desk. He is sitting upright, looking at Eddie, and squeezing a pencil between his fingers, notebook open in front of him. Eddie knows they do not play the roles of friends very well; with just one look anybody could tell they are lovers.

“The board is up here, Eddie,” the teacher says, and Eddie turns back to the front of the classroom with an embarrassed look. Fiddling with his pencil, he mumbles an apology and tunes back into the class.

(lunch is next period)

(I can’t wait to tell him happy birthday)

(I can’t wait to see his face)

The class ends quickly. Eddie takes his notes, gets a quiz back (100!) and packs up his stuff in a rush. When he turns around Richie is behind him, and Beverly is whistling at them from the door. She is smiling, wearing a pretty dress.

“I’ll meet you guys outside,” she says.

“Okay,” Eddie answers, waving. Beverly slips out of the room as Eddie slips his backpack straps over his shoulders. Then he turns to stare up at Richie, at the galaxy of freckles painted across the bridge of his nose, at the grin on his face and the light in his eyes. “Happy birthday,” Eddie says, and if they were dating he would kiss him.

“It sure is.” Richie’s grin widens, and he puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Thanks, Eds. Should we meet the others for lunch?” Richie asks, and Eddie knows Richie thinks Eddie has something planned. But Eddie nods and agrees, and they head outside. Before they regroup with the other losers, Eddie stands on his tippy toes so he can speak quietly to Richie, though Richie still leans down to match Eddie’s height.

“I have something for you later,” Eddie says.

“The same something you already told me about? The other day?” Richie asks, and Eddie remembers saying something similar another day at lunch.

“Two somethings.”

“For my birthday?” Richie looks so smug. Eddie just wants to kiss him senseless.

“Yeah, idiot. For your birthday.” Eddie looks up at Richie.

“Yowza, Eds. You sure know how to treat a guy right.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“That again,” Richie says, and Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

“Come on,” Eddie says, and they head over to their friends. Eddie told the other losers about Richie’s birthday (how could he not?) and made them promise to be low-key about it. But as soon as Richie and Eddie reach the picnic table, Beverly springs up from her seat with a pack of fresh cigarettes in hand. “Happy birthday!” she says, smiling, and she tosses the box at Richie. He catches it gracefully. “Didn’t know what to get’cha, so I thought something useful would be just as well.”

“Oh.” Richie glances at Eddie, confusion spread across his features. “Thanks, Bev.”

“Happy birthday, Rich,” Stan says, patting Richie on the back. Then he moves over. “Take a seat, birthday boy.”

“Wow, Stan’s being oddly nice,” Mike says, smiling. He looks to Richie as Richie sits down next to Stan. “Happy birthday, man.”

Ben and Bill both wish Richie a happy birthday and everyone digs into their lunch. Not so much focus is put onto Richie’s birthday, and Eddie knows Richie is glad. Richie laughs along with everyone now; he is not too in himself nowadays, and Eddie is always happy to see it. They all talk about homework assignments and make mindless chatter, until Beverly turns to Eddie and asks about Greta’s party that’s coming up.

“Yeah, I’ll go. Rich said he would, too,” Eddie says, and Richie nods in agreement.

“Yay!” Beverly says, and suddenly she takes Ben’s hand. He blushes. “We’re all gonna have so much fun. It’ll be a night to remember.”

…

“You’re so whipped,” Mike says, rolling his eyes at Eddie. “Stop _worrying_ , will you? Richie loves anything you do. This is no different.”

“But what if he doesn’t like any of the stuff I packed? Or the _music_ I picked? Mike, I can’t do this. You need to come with us,” Eddie babbles, biting at his nails. He pulls on the back of Mike’s shirt as Mike begins to walk away. It is the end of the school day, they are at Eddie’s locker, and Richie is waiting outside. “Mike, come on! Help me out. You’re supposed to be my best friend.” Mike stops walking and turns around to face Eddie, letting out a deep sigh.

“I _am_ your best friend. Which is why I’m saying this: stop worrying and _go_.” Chuckling, Mike puts his hands on his hips. “And besides, if I go you guys can’t,” he lowers his voice, “Kiss or anything.”

“We’re not kissing,” Eddie says, brows furrowed but cheeks appropriately warm. “We’re just friends. I told you that.”

“Just friends,” Mike says, air-quoting the phrase. “If you guys are just friends, what are Stan and Bill and I?”

“Just… I’m nervous, Mike,” Eddie confesses.

Mike puts his hands on either side of Eddie, a comforting gesture. “And I’m saying you don’t have to be. That boy is obsessed with you. It’ll go so great. Call me after and let me know everything, all right?” As he chews on his bottom lip, Eddie nods reluctantly. “I gotta run. Love ya, Ed.”

“Love you, too,” Eddie replies, watching as Mike takes off down the hallway. Sighing, Eddie looks into his locker and reaches for the mixtape he made for Richie. He doesn’t think twice before shoving it in his backpack and slamming his locker door shut. The picnic supplies have already replaced Eddie’s schoolbooks, so now, all that’s left to do is meet Richie outside. Finally, Eddie heads towards the school’s exit. “Hey, Richie,” Eddie says when Richie is close enough to hear.

“Eds!” Richie smiles. He is not smoking a cigarette, surprisingly. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise for a reason,” Eddie says, grinning. He sets off walking towards the woods and motions for Richie to follow.

“Can’t you give me a hint?” Richie asks, uncharacteristically cheery.

“No. It’s only, like, a ten minute walk.”

“Is it outside or inside?” Richie questions.

“Richie.”

“Listen—I’ll name stuff and you can just tell me if I’m hot or cold.”

“ _Richie_.” Eddie chuckles. “We’ll be there soon.” Richie lets out an exaggerated groan. It turns out to be a fifteen minute walk, but with how much Richie persistently begs for hints, it feels like thirty. With Ben, Bill, and Stan’s help setting up, by the time Richie and Eddie make it to the spot everything is ready. Richie seems to be too busy talking to notice the nice blanket on the ground and the lights hanging above them. “We’re here now. Stop running your mouth,” Eddie says, putting his bag down near a big tree.

“You’re so—“ Richie turns to the scene and immediately stops talking. “ _Amazing._ ” He goes over to the lights and twiddles them between his fingers, and Eddie takes that distraction as a good time to take out the drinks and snacks. “You did all this?” Richie asks.

“Ben, Stan, and Bill helped set up, but it was my idea. I wanted to do something special for your birthday.”

“That’s insane,” Richie says. “Thanks so much, Spaghetti.” There is movement and suddenly Eddie is getting a hug from behind. “You treat me so right. You’re the boy of my dreams, Eds.”

( _you’re the boy of my dreams, Eds_ )

(you’re the boy of my dreams, too)

“Here, sit down. I brought snacks.” Richie lets go of Eddie and takes a seat like he was told. He’s smiling when Eddie turns around with a tub of assorted fruit. He hands it to Richie and watches as Richie starts shoveling the fruit down as if he’s never even tasted strawberries before. There was juice dripping down to his chin and Eddie feigned disgust. “That’s gross,” he says, but he sits down next to Richie and reaches for a piece of watermelon anyway.

“Want a taste?” Richie asks after he’s down chewing. The juice is just beginning to dry when he puckers up.

“Stop that,” Eddie replies, pushing Richie away with a laugh. But Richie just comes close again, staring up at Eddie through his lashes with that _look_. Eddie wonders if Richie knows he’s the cutest boy in the world. Eddie also wonders if Richie has ever had someone to tell him that, not necessarily a romantic partner, or a friend, maybe just a family member that wants Richie to feel loved and appreciated. There is much Eddie doesn’t know about Richie’s family. “Let me have your hand,” Eddie says, and Richie intertwines their fingers without a second thought. There is tremendous history hidden in every line decorating Richie’s palm and in the roughness of every callus. Eddie wishes to press a kiss to every part of Richie’s hand, to memorize Richie’s past through his skin as best he can. “What did you do last year on your birthday?” Eddie asks curiously, kissing the back of Richie’s hand. Richie makes no comment on their boundaries as friends, but instead lifts his free hand to the back of his neck. He looks deep in thought, almost as if considering something.

“I don’t remember,” Richie says, shrugging like it’s nothing. Eddie presses a kiss to each space between Richie’s knuckles.

“You don’t remember?”

“I told you. Birthdays aren’t really a big deal to me.”

Eddie shifts in his position, unsure. He drops Richie’s hand and lies down on the blanket, staring up at the sky between the trees. “Well are you doing anything today?” Before answering, Richie fumbles for a cigarette and lights it with two steady hands. He looks at Eddie.

“A cake, I think,” he says, taking a drag.

“Cake is good,” Eddie says. “I have a present for you.” Richie quirks an eyebrow, grinning again.

“Another one, Spaghetti? I thought this whole thing was my present.”

“Just a little something,” Eddie says, sitting up and reaching into his backpack. He pulls out Richie’s mix and shields it with both hands, not wanting Richie to see it yet. Richie notices and his smile only widens. “Close your eyes,” Eddie tells him, and Richie is quick to oblige. He even puts out his cigarette, diverting his full attention to whatever it is Eddie has planned. Holding the mixtape, Eddie scoots closer to Richie so he can whisper in his ear. He knows his breath must be hot on Richie’s lips. He wonders if Richie gets goose bumps every time they’re this close. “Your birthday might not be a big deal to you, but it is to me. Anything involving you is a big deal to me. You matter to me, so fucking much.”

“You matter to me, too, Eddie,” Richie says suddenly, and Eddie feels a hand caressing his wrist. Even without his sight Richie found his way to Eddie. That alone is somehow enough to convince Eddie they are meant to be, that one day they will kiss in public without shame, and live without fear. The world will be better.

“Happy birthday, Richie,” Eddie says, and he puts the mix into Richie’s hand and curls his fingers around it. “Open your eyes.”

When Richie’s eyes are open, they are wide. “Eds, you didn’t,” is what he says, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Richie smile so genuinely. As Richie takes the cassette out of it’s case, he examines the writing on the label and steals a glance of Eddie. “Eds,” he says, like he has forgotten how to say anything else. “Oh my _God,_ Eds. Eds. Eds. Eds.” The label reads _Never with you_ , because Eddie has not been able to shake those three words since Richie said it. “Gee, Eds, oh _God._ ”

As Richie throws his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him in close, Eddie wonders if Richie has ever received a gift on his birthday before. Sure, he got cigarettes from Beverly and good wishes from the rest of the losers, but Eddie has given Richie something that means the world to him, possibly more—music special for him, songs that say _I think about you all the time_ and _I feel like you know I’ll always love you._ Richie kisses Eddie’s cheek repeatedly, mumbling incoherent thanks under his breath and between kisses. Eddie wants to just hold him forever.

(can’t I just hold you forever?)

And Richie doesn’t pull away; he lets their bodies intertwine with the wind like they were tailor-made for it, because nobody is watching through the trees at the two boys who are new to love.

“You mean so much to me, Eddie,” Richie says, still kissing Eddie’s cheek.

“You mean so much to me, trashmouth,” Eddie replies, still blushing. “Listen when you get home, okay?”

“For sure!” Richie pulls back and takes another good look at the mix. “I’m so excited I can barely breathe. You got your inhaler on ya?” Shaking with the giggles, Eddie can’t even say anything. “Wow,” Richie says, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Then he kisses Eddie’s cheek again. “I wanna kiss ya senseless, you perfect boy.” Without a word, Eddie leans up and kisses Richie gently on the lips. Eddie lets their mouths linger for too long, he knows, but he can’t find himself to care; when they’re kissing, Eddie thinks Sonia’s hatred is not enough to tear them apart.

“You kissed me,” Richie says when Eddie pulls back and leans his head against Richie’s shoulder.

“That I did,” Eddie says.

“I thought we were just friends,” Richie teases, and Eddie feels the weight of Richie’s head on top of his own. Eddie pokes Richie’s side, making Richie squirm playfully.

“We are, but it’s your birthday.”

(it’s your birthday and it’s special)

(you deserve to feel special)

“Wow, Eds! You’re making my heart run wild. Wanna kiss some more?” Richie asks cheekily. Eddie smiles and eyes Richie’s mixtape. He hopes Richie will like it; Eddie poured his heart into it, truly. It is a gift unlike any other Eddie has given, because Richie is Richie, and he is unlike anyone Eddie has ever met. As they sit in the middle of the woods, cuddled together, Richie’s denim jacket scratching Eddie’s pale arms and Eddie’s head tucked in the crook of Richie’s neck, Eddie knows that this day is only temporary, but what they share is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LINK FOR EDDIE'S PLAYLIST FOR RICHIE "NEVER WITH YOU"- https://goo.gl/HJruHM
> 
>  
> 
> short update for u all!!! next is when the real plot comes into play some more!! excited for u all to see it xox
> 
> ps leave me a review or somethin if u like? i love to hear what u think! n i love all ur tweets hehe


	17. Chapter 17

On March 7th at 11:42 PM, Eddie’s home phone rings. He rushes to answer it, because his mother has just gone to sleep and Eddie knows he will be in trouble if she hears. When he makes it downstairs and has the phone off the wall, he lets out a relieved sigh into the reciever. Drowsiness seems to currently own him, but at the thought of Richie calling to talk to him, Eddie will pretend like he has never needed to sleep a day in his life.

“Hey, this is Eddie Kaspbrak,” Eddie says, feeling stupid for saying his full name and all. But at the sound of Richie’s golden chuckle, Eddie doesn’t care how stupid he may sound. “Rich,” he says, and he knows Richie can hear the smile in his voice, because Richie makes Eddie smile like no one else. Eddie has a special Richie smile, like how Richie has a special Eddie one, and Eddie can already tell Richie is in a good mood. Perhaps the mix tape has taken his mind off of whatever struggles he deals with during the night.

“Hey, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie replies. “Can you put my spaghetti on the phone please?”

Eddie wants to say _stop that_ or _cut it out with the dumb nickname,_ but he is too smitten to even pretend he is annoyed. So instead he says, “Sure, one second,” and then he pauses, clears his throat, and speaks like he is a different person now, tone clearer, softer, more in love: “This is he.”

“Spaghetti,” Richie says, like spaghetti is the most romantic word in his vocabulary. “The mixtape you made me is the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

(god)

(I am so in love with you)

“Really?” Eddie asks, awestruck.

“Really, really. Who would’ve known my little Eds would have such great taste in music? I admit some of it is kinda trashy but the rest—you have my heart running wild!”

(he says that a lot)

(do I really make his heart run wild?)

“Ha, ha,” Eddie says sarcastically. “You finish it, then?”

“You betcha. Came right home and listened all the way until dinner, then after again.” Leaning against the kitchen wall, Eddie knows he must look as smitten as one can look. “I would’ve listened a third time but I decided the only music I needed to hear was the sound of my sweet Eddie Spaghetti’s voice.”

“And how was your birthday cake?”

“Fine. Chocolate, just how Junie likes it and just how Stephanie hates it.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “Who’s Stephanie?”

“Oh,” Richie says, like he has completely forgotten something. “Right I forgot you didn’t meet her. She’s barely anybody. She _wishes_ she were somebody.”

“Your older sister?” Eddie guesses, hoping for some sort of confirmation. Eddie remembers once when he went to the big brown house a teenager had answered the door.

“Sure,” Richie says, and Eddie chuckles. He’s tired but he doesn’t ever want to hang up the phone.

“It must be cool not to be an only child,” Eddie says wistfully. “I would’ve killed for an older brother or sister growing up. Even though my mom probably would’ve put them through hell, too.”

“Mrs. K putting you through hell?” Richie asks. “Want me to talk to her? She listens to me. Very obedient, that woman.”

“I _will_ hang up,” Eddie warns.

(no I won’t)

“Okay, okay!” Richie laughs. “I take it back… she wants our relationship on the DL anyway.”

(did you call for a reason?)

(or did you miss me as much as I missed you?)

“There’s this one track. Hang on. Let me find it,” Richie says suddenly. There is a pause and brief shuffling on the other line. Eddie takes this free second to sit atop the kitchen table, knowing full well if his mother were to walk in she would yell at him. He can’t be bothered to care. There are too many good things happening right now to stress. “ _I used to see you on the sidewalk, standing in your high tops, ruining your pretty lungs with your cigarette smoke. It ain’t keepin’ you young,_ ” Richie sings quietly, most likely not wanting to wake anybody up by singing too loud. “That song is _wow_. I _love_ that. I’ve never even heard of that band. So cool. Thought I should let you know.”

“That song reminds me of you so much,” Eddie admits, blushing. “There’s that part… _baby when you’re lonely, kiss me on my open mouth. I’ll throw you a rope; I’ll keep pullin’ you out._ ” The last thing Eddie expects to do is sing back to Richie, but it’s so easy to let his guard down. They are both in love; they just have yet to say it out loud. “I’m no singer,” Eddie says immediately after, embarrassed of his voice.

“I wish you’d sing to me all damn day,” Richie says softly, his voice raspy. “But will you? Kiss me on my open mouth?”

“Don’t I already?” Eddie replies, equally as quiet.

“What about throwing me a rope? You doin’ that too?”

“If you’ll let me.” There is more to say, but Eddie doesn’t confess his true thoughts.

(I’m here for you)

(but only if you’ll let me be)

“If you’ll let me,” Richie echoes, sounding like he is stuck in a dream-like state. Sitting up on the table, Eddie twiddles the phone cord around his index finger. Even over the phone, Richie’s company is always so comforting. “Were you getting ready for bed when I called?”

“Yeah. But I’m not even tired,” Eddie says unconvincingly. He knows he must sound exhausted.

“Nothing tires out Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie jokes. “I’m tired.”

“So sleep,” Eddie says as if it is the easiest thing in the world. It is only after he says it that he realizes he is being a bit insensitive. Richie has told Eddie about his issues sleeping before, the world _insomniac_ tracing in the back of Eddie’s mind as he recalls.

“I’ll try. Gonna down some Zzzquil. Love that shit. Knocks me out real good,” Richie replies. “Get some sleep, Eds.”

“Call me if you need me.” Eddie sucks at his bottom lip. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.” Richie’s chuckle seems to vibrate through the phone. The sound sends a fuzzy feeling straight to Eddie’s stomach. “I miss you, too. Always. All the time; I’m never not missing you.” Part of Eddie thinks Richie may already be a little high on Zzzquil, but he keeps his mouth shut and his comments to himself. When Richie is soft like this Eddie loves to enjoy the moment. “Miss you,” Richie says again, almost the same way a lover would say _love you_ , but Eddie tries not to think too much about that.

“Miss you, too,” Eddie says. “Good night, Rich. I’ll see you at school.”

“See you.” Then Richie hangs up.

Eddie stays sat on the table for a few minutes, reminiscing, smiling to himself. To Eddie, it always feels as though the minutes with Richie are precious, delicate, like there will not be more conversations to live up to the previous. But there always are. Still holding the phone to his ear, Eddie kicks his feet childishly, breathing softly into the receiver. “I love you,” Eddie whispers, as if Richie is still on the line. And Eddie likes to believe that in some alternate universe Richie says it back.

…

Time passes surprisingly quickly as just friends, and before Eddie knows it, it is the night of Greta’s party.

Eddie paces in Mike’s bedroom. Mike watches with an amused stare as he sits on the floor, leaning his back up against his bed. “Why are you so nervous?” Mike asks. Eddie _knows_ how ridiculous he must look. Bill and Stan are both lying on Mike’s bed reading comics, letting Mike deal with the anxiety that’s eating Eddie up. “If you really didn’t wanna go to the party you could’ve just said no.”

“No. It’s not that,” Eddie says, because it isn’t. Eddie has had time to think about it and he’s actually _not_ dreading the party. The chances of running into Greta were slim. Eddie’s been unlucky in his life, but not that unlucky… right? “It’s Richie.”

“I thought you two were good?” Mike asks.

“We _are_. I just… can’t believe he said yes. I think he still might back out. He doesn’t like staying out late.”

“That sounds unlike him. He seems like the type of person who’s more lively at night,” Mike says, and Eddie stops pacing to throw Mike a look that says _really?_ “Or maybe not. I don’t remember seeing him out during night ever.”

“He was at the play,” Stan says, but then he reconsiders. “Wait. Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe he wasn’t. That’s odd. Everybody goes to the school plays.” Shrugging, Stan turns the page of his marvel comic and pulls himself out of Mike and Eddie’s conversation once again. But now Bill joins with a gentle laugh as he says: “M-Maybe he’s a-a-a werewolf.”

“Yeah right,” Stan shoots back, eyes never leaving the page. “The existence of werewolves is extremely unlikely. And even if Richie were a werewolf, he would have superhuman strength or at least some other werewolf attributes. The only thing superhuman about him is how long he can avoid coming to school.”

“I-I dunno, Eddie. Better b-be safe and bring a s-s-silver bullet.” Bill chuckles.

“Very funny,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “What time is it, Mike?”

“Half past eight. Why?”

“Richie said he’d be here at nine.”

“So then stop pacing; you have thirty minutes,” Stan says. Then he sighs and tosses his comic book at Bill, who sends Stan an annoyed look. But Stan seems unbothered as he reaches for Bill’s cassette player he brought over for free usage. Eddie didn’t even think to bring his. Maybe listening to some music would have helped calm him down. “You’re only burning energy, Eddie. Sit down. Read a book,” Stan suggests, shoving in his earphones. Sighing, Eddie sits down on Mike’s floor, opposite Mike, and crosses his arms.

“See? Don’t you feel a little better?” Mike asks, teasing. Eddie is annoyed and avoids Mike’s gaze. “Fine. Sit there in your anxiety. Bill, pass me a comic?” Bill does without a word.

Eddie lets out a hefty sigh and holds out his hand, “Can I get one, too?”

Nine rolls around soon and Eddie does not _dare_ look at the time, and before he knows it, it’s nine thirty and there is a knock at Mike’s door. “Shit,” Eddie says. “That must be Richie.”

“W-Well, d-don’t leave him hanging,” Bill says, eyebrows raised. Putting down his comic book, Eddie rises to his feet and quickly runs a hand through his hair. He tries to ignore Stan’s snickering. “Y-You look great,” Bill says sweetly.

“Thanks, Bill,” Eddie says, and he glances at Mike, exhaling deeply. “I’ll be right back.” As Eddie races to the front door, he mutters words of encouragement to himself, because he has learned it is better to hype yourself up than to continue anxiously worrying about everything that could go wrong. Another knock sounds and Eddie pulls the door open slowly, trying his best not to look flustered. Richie stands there, bundled up in his dark brown overcoat, hands shoved into his pockets and an unlit cigarette poking out from between his lips. He looks somewhat a mess, like perhaps he overslept and threw something on, but he still looks incredibly cute. Eddie thinks he would find Richie cute in any situation.

(say something!)

“Hey,” Eddie says. He wishes he had come up with something better than just _hey_. So much of what he says is just _hey_. Isn’t Richie a little better than a casual _hey_? “I didn’t think you’d show,” Eddie says honestly, and he wishes he‘d stuck to _hey_. Stepping aside before he can say anything else, he says: “Come in.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie replies, seemingly pleased to be welcomed into Mike’s house. He does not make any movement to take off his jacket, or show that he is indeed going to be staying a while. The shoes stay on and so does the cigarette in his mouth as he talks. Eddie wonders how it doesn’t fall. “Wow. So this is where Mikey lives. Nice place.”

“Yeah. His grandpa isn’t home, so it’s extra quiet,” Eddie replies. “Mike, Stan, and Bill are in Mike’s room.”

(why is this awkward)

(I don’t know what I was expecting with Richie coming out after dark)

(fangs maybe?)

(claws?)

Eddie mentally face palms.

(I got too into Mike’s comics)

“You wanna take your shoes off?” Eddie asks, because Richie hasn’t moved at all. He’s been inspecting Mike’s house, looking at the dusty wallpaper and purple sofa. The fluffy rug in the living room and the orange floor tiles that start patterning up toward the kitchen.

“Oh,” Richie says, and he looks back at Eddie. Finally Richie steals the cigarette from his lips and stuffs it into his coat pocket. There are dark circles under Richie’s eyes, and there always are, but somehow these different; they seem to reside deep under his skin, like an unwanted relative. Eddie doesn’t ask if he’s been sleeping. Instead, Eddie watches as Richie unties his shoes and leans them up against the mudroom wall. “There we go. Like my socks?” Richie is wearing colorful socks today, and Eddie wonders if it is to compensate for the grayness that he has brought with him.

“They’re cool,” Eddie says, because with Richie’s change in demeanor Eddie feels guilty. If it were not for the party, perhaps Richie would not be so…

“Why so speechless, spaghetti? Checking me out for fangs or just checking me out?” Richie jokes, grinning foolishly. Eddie exhales through his nose, amused, and a small smile spreads across his lips. “Sorry to disappoint but I came fang-free tonight. Took them out just for you. Didn’t wanna scare you away.”

“As if you could scare me away,” Eddie flirts, crossing his arms.

“I could try,” Richie shoots back.

Mike, Bill, and Stan all come downstairs after a few more minutes of Richie and Eddie’s bickering. They greet Richie hello and state they have consecutively decided that they should leave for the party now, considering Mike lives somewhat out of town and it’ll take a bit longer to get to Greta’s house. It is dark outside, and Eddie keeps a close watch on Richie as they all pile into Stan’s shitty car, but Richie seems no different than he has been. Staring out the window, Eddie ponders what this whole _fear of the dark_ nonsense is really about. It doesn’t make much sense to him, but he has believed it, and now here Richie is, a little pale, sure, tired nonetheless, but not cowering in fear at the pretty moon that hovers above.

Bill turns on the radio. Eddie zones out. He and Richie hold hands the whole ride.

When they get to Greta’s house it is ten, and Beverly and Ben immediately greet them at the door. It becomes apparent to Eddie quickly that Beverly has already had several drinks.

“You guys missed it!” Beverly shouts over the beaming music. “I was totally winning beer pong a second ago. Tell them, Ben! Wasn’t I?” As Ben opens his mouth to reply, Beverly waves his confirmation off and continues blabbering: “I think they’re starting another round if you want, Mike—I know how much you love beer pong.” She winks at Mike and points over toward the dining room table. “They’re playing over there.” Mike laughs and turns to Bill, who nods his head in reply to something Mike says. Bill and Mike then walk toward the beer pong table. As he passes Eddie, Mike rubs Eddie’s shoulder and whispers: “Have some fun tonight.” Eddie simply smiles.

Suddenly Beverly is tugging on Eddie’s jacket sleeve. “Eddie, come with me to get drinks! They’ve got really good vodka. I want Stan to try it so he can be reminded of what _good fucking alcohol_ taste like.” And she takes Eddie’s hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. Eddie can only shoot Richie an apologetic look, but he can’t read the expression on Richie’s face; he is engaged in conversation with Ben and Stan. “Make sure to thank Melanie for letting us all come if you see her,” Beverly slurs into Eddie’s ear. He nods to shut her up, but it doesn’t help. She keeps rambling about vodka and suddenly she points at someone over by the sink and says, “I need to say hi to her. She’s my lab partner. I’ll be right back. Go grab some beer. Just over there, okay?”

(you’re fine, eddie)

(you can get beer on your own)

Walking over to the kitchen table, there is a mountain of drinks to choose from. Eddie grabs the closest thing, pours it into a cup, and downs it all in one gulp. He winces at the taste, but then he takes more. Downs it. More. Downs it. He doesn’t even know why he’s drinking so much; the only thing he knows is that he’s got a bad feeling. As he’s refilling his fourth cup, he turns his head to search for Beverly, but instead catches the eye of exactly who he did not want to see: Greta Keene.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, maneuvering his way out of the kitchen so he would not have to talk to her. But with Eddie’s luck, Greta holds out her arm to stop him from passing, looking amused. She eyes him up and down, quite obviously, and Eddie does his best to play it off like he isn’t extremely uncomfortable. Richie is somewhere else, maybe still with Stan and Ben, and while Eddie came here to spend time with Richie, he somehow got roped into speaking with Greta. It is almost as though no time has passed since they were children; she’s smacking on a large piece of bubblegum. There is also a red solo cup in her right hand. Eddie is curious about how alcohol and candy must taste mixed together.

“Eddie,” Greta says over the loud music. “Funny running into you here. I don’t remember inviting you.”

“Beverly got us all an invite from Melanie,” Eddie replies, inspecting his drink like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. It is an odd concoction of several drinks. Something that tastes gross but will make the night easier. “I should get going. My friends are waiting.”

“No,” Greta says, grinning, and Eddie knows she has something up her sleeve. “Stay a while. We haven’t spoken since last year.”

“Yeah, last year when you ruined my life,” Eddie shoots back, annoyed. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened, but if Greta is going to pester him then he’s going to let her have it.

“You have Kai to thank for that.” Greta laughs. “Remember him? Kai? Tall, handsome, and _straight_? Quite your match.”

“Shut the fuck up, Greta,” Eddie says, tense. “It happened last year. Let’s forget it already. You’re wasting my time.”

(I don’t want to remember him please don’t make me)

(I’ve tried so hard to forget)

( _Kai_ )

“Sure. You’ve got a new boyfriend anyway. This one actually like sucking dick?”

Eddie inhales sharply, closing his eyes. _Keep calm. In and out. Easy._ He pushes past Greta and walks away, because he doesn’t want to get worked up and angry. That’s giving her what she wants, and Eddie knows better than that. Kai isn’t around anymore. Kai is _gone_ so why the _fuck_ is he suddenly the only thing on Eddie’s mind?

“Eddie,” comes Stan’s voice. Eddie turns to Stan and lets out a sigh of relief. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Eddie replies.

(liar)

“Where did Richie go?”

“Uh.” Stan glances around the room. “Richie went to the bathroom. Yeah. He was trying to find a bathroom.”

(I shouldn’t have come to this)

(It’s only been five minutes and everything has gone to shit)

(I hate parties so fucking much)

“Thanks,” Eddie says, turning away in attempt to scope out a bathroom. Unfortunately, Eddie has no idea where to even begin looking; there are _dozens_ of people in the house, pressed body to body, flush against each other, most strangers. Eddie wonders how other people aren’t turned off by spaces like this, and he even feels his chest tighten in a need for his inhaler, but he ignores the feeling. He doesn’t need it. He needs to find Richie. So his feet carry him into Greta’s den, where there are people grinding and fighting over the party playlist. “Richie?” he calls out, though he knows his voice does not carry far with the pounding music playing. But then there he is—Richie, maneuvering his way down a long hallway to what looks like could be a bedroom. Eddie has never taken off quicker.

“Richie!” he shouts, ignoring the odd looks people throw in his direction. Richie does not seem to hear his name, but even if he does, he does not turn around or respond in any way. Eddie can only see the back of him, lanky and stumbling into people, the curls on his head bouncing around with each clumsy move.

(is he drunk?)

(already?)

By the time Richie has reached the bedroom door, Eddie has his hand on his shoulder. Richie whips his head back so fast Eddie knows he must have a cramp. “Hey, it’s just me,” Eddie says. There is an odd look on Richie’s face. He almost looks like he might faint. His skin is porcelain white, his lips parted as if he is having trouble with even breathing. Eddie knows this look. It is not drunkenness, not at all. “It’s just me.”

(he looks so panicked)

They push the bedroom door open and stumble inside. Eddie is glad to find there are no couples hooking up, and quickly locks the door behind them. Richie will not look at Eddie. Eddie thinks Richie does not want him to get a good look.

(what’s wrong?)

(tell me what’s wrong)

“Is that a bathroom?” is what Richie says, pointing at a door next to a desk. Without waiting for Eddie to reply, he rushes to it and slams the door shut. Furrowing his brows, Eddie goes over to the door and knocks on it. No reply.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks. Silence. Worried, he presses his ear to the door, but he only hears the sound of running water. It is loud, overbearing; Eddie thinks if Richie were to say anything it would go unheard. “Richie, what’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.” The tap water shouts in reply. “Richie. Don’t pull this shit with me right now. Just let me know you’re not fucking dead. Just say something.”

Nothing.

Eddie bangs a fist on the door. “Anything, asshole. One fucking word.”

“Am dandy,” comes Richie’s voice quietly, the water still running too strong. He is close to the door; Eddie can somehow feel his presence. “Sorry, spaghetti.”

“Sorry for what?” Eddie asks, simultaneously full of relief and worry.

“Freaking you out.”

“It’s okay. Why are you running the water?”

Nothing.

(do I give him space?)

(what the fuck do I _do_?)

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be out here,” Eddie says, because what else is he supposed to say? So he waits. Eddie goes over to the bed and sits down on it, drink still in hand. He doesn’t down the rest of it. Suddenly Eddie does not want it. “I’ll just be out here,” Eddie talks to himself quietly, knowing there is no way Richie could possibly hear. Eddie swishes his drink around, watching the liquid hit the walls of his red solo cup. “Whenever you’re ready to stop lying to me.”

At least an hour must pass before there’s knocking at the bedroom door, before Eddie is pulled from his slumber.

(what the fuck)

(did I fall asleep?)

(how much did I drink?)

“Eddie? Are you in there?” A voice says.

(Richie?)

“If you are: It’s Stan. Open the door.”

(oh)

Eddie gets up from the bed and goes over to the door to let Stan in. Ben and Beverly are with Stan. They all look confused and a little annoyed. Eddie remembers Richie in the bathroom, and before any of his friends can voice their complaints that are most likely about the disappearance of Richie and Eddie, he says: “Richie locked himself in the bathroom. I fell asleep. I don’t know what happened.”

“What?” Beverly asks. “He locked himself in the bathroom?”

“Somebody can’t handle their liquor,” Stan says snidely. Ben shoots him a look that says _maybe it isn’t the time for that._ Stan shakes it off and crosses his arms. “How long has he been in there?” Eddie itches his head.

“An hour? Two? I don’t know. I fell asleep.”

As Eddie walks over to the bathroom, Beverly, Stan, and Ben all follow suit. There is no running water to be heard. Not one sound. Eddie knocks on the door slowly, a small, “Richie?” slipping out from his lips in a scared whisper. “Richie? Are you okay?” Ben takes a step closer to the door and jiggles the handle. He twists the handle and Eddie is shocked to see it turn at all. Ben does not push the door open, however; it seems as though even Ben is worried as to what they might be met with. “It was locked before,” Eddie says, as if he is afraid the others won’t believe him. Stan’s eyebrows are furrowed as he glances at Eddie, concern written across his features. Then Eddie says: “Hope you’re decent… we’re coming in.”

The door is pushed open, and suddenly Eddie feels his heart burst into a million tiny pieces, pieces so small they could mirror the freckles on Richie’s face. Clenching his fists, Eddie wishes with everything he is that he had not fallen asleep, wishes that he hadn’t had that much to drink. He hears Ben’s confused murmurs and feels Beverly’s gentle hand on his shoulder, and there is nothing out of the ordinary in the bathroom. The sink is off, but the floor is wet, like somebody had been running the water too long and it had overflown. The mirror on the wall is foggy, the window open. And Richie: gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the love and support!! thanks for reading eeeee  
> \+ the angst begins


	18. Chapter 18

“What the fuck?” Stan says, practically reading Eddie’s mind. The bathroom in which Richie once stood, doing who knows what, is now empty. If it weren’t for the water on the floor and Eddie’s memory of running water, he would have thought he made the whole thing up. “Where did he go?”

(why did I have to fall asleep?)

(why the _fuck_ did I fall asleep?)

“What in the…” Beverly takes a step into the bathroom and eyes the wet floor tiles. She has definitely sobered up. Perhaps it is hours after the party ended. Eddie doesn’t know. “Did he leave the sink running or what?” They all look at the sink’s tap. “He must’ve turned it off before he left. Do you know why he turned it on?” she asks as she grabs a towel from the rack. She passes one to Ben, a silent demand to help her clean off the floor before Greta comes to find them and throws a tantrum.

“I don’t know. All I remember is…” Eddie crosses his arms, trying to think back, but his memory is a bit clogged because of all the booze he consumed. “I had a few drinks,” Eddie admits, feeling foolish. “But I remember coming into the room with Richie, and he… he was really pale. Maybe was having an anxiety attack or something. Then he locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t open up.”

“Did he say anything about having an anxiety attack?” Ben asks as he wipes down the floor.

“No, but I know the look.” Ben, Stan, and Beverly all exchange glances; Eddie knows they don’t think he notices, but he does. “Why would he have left? It was only, like, ten minutes after we got here.” Then Eddie snaps his fingers and turns to Stan, who still stands by the doorway, pensive. “Stan, didn’t you say he asked you where the bathroom was?”

“Yeah, but I said I didn’t know and he said he was gonna go find one,” Stan replies. “After that I ran into you.”

“And I had gone to help you and Beverly with drinks,” Ben speaks up. “But you were gone by the time I found Bev.”

“Where did you go to?” Beverly asks, curious. “Before you ran into Stan.”

( _Greta_ )

“Uh—“ Eddie is cut off by a loud groan.

“You guys are still here? Get out. Everyone was supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago,” Greta says. “And why are you in my sister’s room? You’re all a bunch of losers.”

“Nice seeing you, too, Greta,” Beverly says, smiling. She drops the towel she was wiping the floor with and leaves it soaking on the ground. Motioning for Ben to do the same, he obliges and they both push past Stan to leave the bathroom. As Beverly approaches Greta, she says: “Have fun cleaning up. It’s like a tsunami hit.”

“Bye,” Ben says politely to Greta. Eddie doesn’t know how Ben is so kind all the time. “It was a good party.” Greta rolls her eyes and as Stan goes to leave the bedroom, Eddie gets one last stare at the mess. He is confused, and selfishly, a bit hurt. Richie had left when Eddie was knocked out. Perhaps if Richie wanted to spend time with Eddie he would have woken him up.

“Beat it, Eddie,” comes Greta’s obnoxious voice. So Eddie leaves, but he brings his questions with him. It seems all Eddie does nowadays is wonder when he will receive answers. He meets Stan, Ben, and Beverly outside. The three of them are quiet, like they are afraid to set Eddie off. Eddie exhales deeply before shrugging his shoulders.

“Mike and Bill went back to Bill’s. We said we’d stay and look for you and Richie,” Ben says. “Bill invited us over, if you want.” Eddie tries not to wonder if this invitation extends to Richie, or how the night may have played out had he not fallen asleep, had Richie not vanished like he always does. Eddie says nothing. “Let’s go,” Ben says, and suddenly his hand is on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie just wants to cry, and scream, and kick.

(can’t I get one nice thing?)

(don’t I deserve _one_ nice _fucking_ thing?)

They are in the car driving to Bill’s house. Beverly is in the backseat with Eddie, his head on her shoulder and her arms around him. She is so soft like velvet, her skin smooth but freckled. The radio is playing, Eddie thinks. Nobody says a word in the car, apart from Stan’s occasional muttering of song lyrics. Eddie can’t stop thinking about Richie: why he left, if he wanted to leave or if he felt he couldn’t be there. Why he’s so in himself all the time, why he doesn’t trust Eddie when Eddie trusts him so fucking much.

Eddie wonders if Richie is mad at him for dragging him to the party, for bringing him out after dark, but then Eddie considers that maybe Richie is just mad at the world.

When Beverly shakes her shoulder Eddie knows they have arrived. They walk to the house and knock on the door. Mike opens the door with a smile, but as his eyes pan across his friends’ faces, he seems to realize that Richie is gone and something has happened. And just like that, Mike opens his arms and Eddie falls into them, crying, sobbing—clutching onto Mike’s nice new blue t-shirt as if his life depends on it. And right now it feels like it does.

“Hey,” Mike murmurs, returning Eddie’s hold with equal strength. “It’s okay. Whatever happened is over. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie doesn’t really know why he’s crying, he just knows that he feels like crying, and that Mike’s hugs might be the only thing that can fix this right now. Head still tucked into Mike’s chest, Eddie hears the door shut and feels Mike guide them over to the couch. Eddie sits on the couch and cries, and he hears Mike ask the others what’s wrong, and he hears them tell him what had happened.

“He—he wasn’t _okay_ and I—I just _let_ him lock himself in the bathroom,” Eddie says through tears. He doesn’t know if the others can hear him; he’s curled within Mike’s arms with his mouth pressed against Mike’s shirt pocket. “Why doesn’t he _trust_ me I _asked_ him what was wrong and he never _fucking_ tells me and I’m so _fucking_ —“ Eddie sucks in a large breath. He doesn’t know how he’s feeling. Mad? Upset? Betrayed? Unloved? Played with? “—I want to care about him but he makes it so fucking hard.” Eddie feels a hand in his hair, and he sniffles before pulling his head out. Beverly is sitting on top of the pillows of the couch, her hip just beside Eddie’s head, her fingers in his hair. It feels nice.

“You do care about him,” she says. “A lot.”

(part of me wishes I didn’t)

(if I didn’t this would be a lot easier)

“And it’s not hard to see that he cares about you too,” Beverly continues.

“Well he’s got a funny way of showing it,” Eddie says, wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand.

“Maybe he’s not used to people caring about him,” Ben suggests. “So when you show that you care, he pushes you away… And you didn’t let him lock himself in the bathroom. You didn’t do anything wrong, Eddie. You did what anybody would have done in that situation: let him have his space, because him locking himself in the bathroom? That’s him asking for some.”

“I just want to know he’s okay,” Eddie says, and he knows his croaking voice must make him sound pathetic.

“C-Can’t you call him?” Bill asks. He is standing next to Beverly, so Eddie has to crane his neck back to look at him. “D-Don’t you have his n-number?”

“No,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “He only has mine.”

“Well, y-you know where he lives, s-s-so go there and f-find out what happened.”

“We’ll go with you,” Stan adds, slipping his head on top of Bill’s shoulder. “So you don’t have to go alone.”

“He probably won’t even answer the door.” Eddie thinks he is done crying now, though Mike’s arms are still around him. “And I doubt his family will tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s still worth asking,” Stan replies.

“Y-Yeah. Better than s-sitting here wondering,” Bill says.

“It’s too late now. We’ll go tomorrow,” Mike states. “Everybody, all right?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, sighing. It is quiet for a while. Bill mumbles something about making hot cocoa, so he goes to the kitchen. Though the kitchen isn’t far from the living room, so he will still be able to make out what the losers are saying as long as they are speaking loud enough.

“Wait, you never said where you disappeared to, when we were getting drinks.” Beverly bumps Eddie’s shoulder, catching his attention again. “I turned around and you were gone.”

“Oh, that.” All eyes are on Eddie, and he wishes Beverly hadn’t brought it up again. He wishes so many things right now. “I ran into Greta.”

“She give you a hard time?” Mike asks.

“I dunno.” Eddie shrugs. Then he says, “Guys,” as he rubs his tear stained face with dirty fingers. “Last year. That whole thing with Kai. I left out something.” With his eyes closed, Eddie recalls his sophomore year. He doesn’t want to look at any of his friends, doesn’t want to see their faces contort. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Because I trust you guys, and maybe if you had known tonight wouldn’t have happened at all. I think I was just, tired of all the shit, last year, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself anymore.”

“Did Greta do something?” Stan guesses, and Eddie ignores him.

“She was in on the whole thing. It was her idea in the first place. She’s the one who told Kai to—“ he pauses, “Well, you know. And she’s the one who stole my clothes. Probably pulled a bunch of the other shit, too.”

“I’m gonna kill that bitch,” Beverly says, standing up. “Oh my god, Eddie. With that streaking bullshit I thought it was the football team because of Kai— _God!_ That motherfucking bitch.”

“Sorry I didn’t say anything,” Eddie says quietly. Finally he looks up at everyone. They look concerned, and sympathetic, and Eddie hates it. He wants to never think about sophomore year, or Kai, or Greta, but sometimes it’s hard not to. “That’s why I didn’t want to come tonight. Because bullying me in middle school wasn’t enough for her; she needed to do it in high school, too.” Bill comes back into the living room empty handed, but the look on his face says that he heard it all. He hugs Eddie, and then so does Beverly, and Ben, and Stan, and Mike. They are a hugging mess of tangled arms and deep regrets, but Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

…

Saturday morning. Breakfast is cooking. Someone is taking a shower. Eddie’s heart is pounding.

(is Richie even home?)

(what if nobody answers the door?)

(worse: what if _Richie_ answers the door?)

“Eddie, rise and shine,” Stan says as he walks into the living room. Eddie stares up at Stan, who juggles a plate of food in his right hand and a fork and napkin in his left. “Oh. You’re up. Bill made food.” The plate of food is put into Eddie’s hands, so he sits upright to eat it. He mutters his thanks and watches as Stan sits on the couch. Eddie went to sleep on the living room floor, along with everyone else, but now his back is aching as well as his chest. He wants confirmation Richie is okay and _breathing_ and he wants it now. Stan seems to notice this. “We’re going right after you eat. Mike is showering and everyone else is already good to go.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and he eats his food quietly. Stan gets up to go get a cup of coffee. By the time Eddie is done eating the shower is off and Mike is dressed, and so Eddie goes to the bathroom to get ready. He brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower, because there’s no way he doesn’t reek of booze. The shower water almost makes him good as new. Almost. “I’m ready,” Eddie tells everyone as he enters the living room. They are all spread out on the floor and couch, but they go quiet when he steps into the room, and Eddie knows they were talking about him.

“All right.” Ben breaks the silence, standing up. “Let’s go to Richie’s.” They all tug on their jackets and winter boots, even though the chilly winter weather is almost completely done with, and they walk over to Richie’s house. Eddie is beyond nervous, but his friends talk to him about non-Richie topics, like Beverly’s favorite nail polish color and Ben’s most recent book he’s read, and Eddie supposes he feels a bit lighter due to the conversation. When they reach Richie’s house, Eddie goes up the porch, knowing nobody is following. He needs to do this; in the case that Richie opens the door,

(highly unlikely)

or whoever _does_ open the door lets Eddie come in; he knows a lot of people will overwhelm Richie.

A teenage girl opens the door. She eyes Eddie with raised eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. “Are you Stephanie?” is the only thing that comes out of Eddie’s mouth, because he thinks Richie has a sister named Stephanie. The girl puts her hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side, her curls bouncing.

“Depends. Who’s asking?” she asks, and from the limited information Eddie has on Stephanie, he assumes this is her.

“Uh. I’m Eddie. I’m a friend of Richie’s from school.” Stephanie narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe Eddie. “I was just wondering if he’s home.”

“He’s upstairs in his room,” she replies, still looking at Eddie suspiciously. It is quiet before Eddie says anything; he is too nervous around her. She is extremely intimidating.

“Well… can I talk to him?”

“Let me go see when visiting hours are,” Stephanie says, joking, and she shuts the door in Eddie’s face. Just like that. Eddie doesn’t know what to think. He blinks, a bit startled, and turns to his friends confusedly. They all wear puzzled looks. Eddie shrugs, and he waits a few minutes in the chance that Stephanie will come back. When she opens the door again, she purses her lips like she is bearing bad news. “He’s not in the mood today,” Stephanie says, her hand in her back pocket. She looks like she feels sorry for Eddie, and Eddie supposes she might. Then, as if to comfort Eddie, she says: “Try again tomorrow. He has his off days.”

Eddie wonders when Richie is not having an off day. But he smiles through his hurt feelings.

“Okay. Thanks,” Eddie replies. Stephanie sends one last sympathetic glance Eddie’s way. When the door begins to close he holds his hand out, stopping it. Closing his eyes, Eddie finally asks the question that has been on his mind: “Is he—is Richie okay?” Stephanie stares in silence, perplexed. “It’s just—I’ve been worried about him.” A pause. Eddie suddenly points to his friends loitering outside Richie’s house. “We all are—worried. About Richie, I mean.”

“Richie wouldn’t want you to worry,” Stephanie says, and she moves to shut the door. Eddie lets her this time. Standing on Richie’s front porch, Eddie stares at the mailbox to the left of the door. There are not so many letters now. Someone must have picked them up. As Eddie walks down to his friends, and smiles a close-mouthed smile, he figures that knowing Richie is home and safe is better than not knowing anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thnks for the love xox  
> been sad lately so you should leave a comment hehe  
> ps this is short sorry


	19. Chapter 19

It is Thursday and Richie has not returned to school, or the outside world, for that matter. There is an empty seat in Eddie’s math class and a tear in his heart. During lunch periods, the losers try to avoid talking about Richie, and Eddie knows it’s on his behalf. But it saddens him to think it is that simple to talk around Richie, like Richie was never a part of their friend group at all, like he is so easy to forget. Eddie has not visited the big brown house, because if Richie does not want to talk then Eddie will give him space. Space is good for Richie, even if it is hard for Eddie.

It is just Beverly and Eddie outside at lunch today. The others left to study in the library, but Eddie thinks it’s because Beverly wants to talk to him privately. He knows he is right when she packs up her food and sits atop the picnic table, staring at him. “So,” she says, smiling. “Can we talk more about this Greta thing, or?”

(there it is)

“What do you want to know?” Eddie asks, taking a bite of his sandwich. Chewing slowly, he watches as the smile on Beverly’s lips never falters, even as she gnaws on her bottom lip as if searching for an answer to his question in the skin of her mouth.

“When did you know that she was in on it?” Beverly asks.

(right to the point, huh?)

“Uh,” Eddie sputters, furrowing his brows, thinking back to his cowering form and Kai hovering above him. It was light outside, still daytime, yet Kai’s shadow casted an unforgettable shadow across Eddie’s entire body. Eddie doesn’t think he’d ever been so scared and humiliated before. It is a terrible memory, one he does not wish to recall; he shudders. “When Kai, uh,” Eddie says, wondering how to put it. Eddie takes the last bite of his sandwich and chews slowly. He’s curious as to if Beverly can tell he’s buying time. She probably can.

(when Kai called me ugly)

As Eddie recalls it, he can vaguely remember telling somebody, perhaps a few of his friends. But the memory is too fuzzy to access. He sighs. “When Kai called me ugly.” The world seems to stop, almost.

“When Kai _what_?” Beverly asks. Eddie says nothing, only holds her steady, angered gaze. “Oh, he’s _so_ lucky he’s out of state for college. I would go right up to his shitty little house and knock the living daylights out of him. He’s such a piece of shit.”

Eddie lets out something of a laugh, but cannot help but feel sad. Eddie hates to think of Kai, because upon Kai being so difficult to forget, it is somehow more difficult to remember him. “It’s whatever,” Eddie says, even though it isn’t. Even though it still hurts. “That was when he basically told me that it was Greta’s sick idea. He said that she had always thought I was gay, even when we were younger. I guess she figured high school was the time to test her theory.”

( _“You’re an ugly fag,” Kai says, his words like venom. “Stay away from me.”_ )

“And she was right,” Eddie says, his words light as if he’s trying to make Beverly feel less bad. “I just wish it was my business and not the whole school’s.” Beverly puts her arm around Eddie, rubbing his shoulder. All she does as of late is comfort Eddie. The school bell rings, and Eddie is relieved. This way Beverly can’t say anything. Eddie doesn’t want her to say she’s sorry; having her pity would do no good. All Eddie seems to get nowadays is pity, and he can barely stand it anymore.

…

Eddie goes by Richie’s house after school. _Just to see,_ Eddie tells himself, although to see _what_ he doesn’t know, because he is certain he will not be seeing Richie. When Eddie arrives to Richie’s house, he goes up the steps and knocks on the door. Only a few moments pass before the door opens, revealing Stephanie. Eddie smiles at her as she puts her hand on her hip and looks at him expectantly. “Delivery for Richard?” she asks, and Eddie feels overly embarrassed. Perhaps he’s stopping by too often, but then she did say to check back to see if Richie would be in a better mood. Grinning meekly, Eddie waves his hand and then sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans, suddenly at a loss for words. Stephanie sighs, then says, “Sorry. Want me to go see if he’s up?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie replies, and just as Stephanie begins to turn for the staircase, Junie pops out of nowhere, grinning toothily and cutting Stephanie off. “Spaghetti Eddie!” Junie calls, making a run for Eddie. She latches onto his legs like she did with Richie that one time, and gives Eddie a great big hug. Eddie nearly stumbles back, but instead pats Junie’s head, not knowing what else to do. “Spaghetti Eddie, are you here to see Richie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. Junie lets go off him and turns to look at Stephanie.

“You gonna keep him company while I go get Rich?” Stephanie asks. Junie salutes her, serious.

“Yes, ma’am!” Junie says.

“All right,” Stephanie says, chuckling. She looks at Eddie before leaving. “I’ll be right back.”

As Junie stares up at Eddie, she narrows her eyes and puts her finger on her chin as if she’s thinking. Eddie wants to ask what she’s doing, but then she starts to circle Eddie. She’s straight-faced, as if taking note of everything Eddie is doing, studying him. Then suddenly she stops, breaks out into a smug smile, stands on her tippy toes, leaning up toward Eddie, and says, “He told me.” Eddie blinks.

(he told you?)

“What?” Eddie sputters, confused.

“Richie _told_ me. He tells me everything! He says I’m his best friend, so he told me that you and him kiss sometimes. Isn’t that gross?” her face puckers. “He must smell sometimes. I know he does.”

(I like how he smells)

“Richie said not to tell anyone because boys aren’t supposed to kiss boys, which I think is silly. Actually, I think kissing at all is silly. I don’t understand why anyone would want to kiss boys especially; they’re gross.”

“Uh,” Eddie mutters, unsure of what to say. Junie notices his expression and sighs dramatically, dropping her arms by her sides.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone. Richie told me not to tell anyone, so I won’t! Because he’s my best friend,” Junie says, like she’s reminding Eddie. She crosses her arms. “He likes you a lot. He told me that, too.”

(she loves to talk, huh?)

“He does?” Eddie presses, wanting more.

“Mhmm,” Junie says, nodding. She looks like she might say more, but with Stephanie’s reappearance Junie clamps her mouth shut and turns away from Eddie. Stephanie comes back alone, yet part of Eddie hopes she’ll say _he’s upstairs, he wants you, so go ahead._ But then Eddie notices the pity in her eyes, and how she glances at Eddie pathetically, and he knows Richie doesn’t want him right now. “Don’t feel blue,” Junie says, breaking the silence. Eddie stares at her. “Richie has lots of blue days. Sometimes he doesn’t even want to see me.” Eddie just stares at her.

(blue days?)

(sad days?)

“Rich doesn’t mean anything by it,” Stephanie says. “Seriously.”

(it feels like he does)

“You can try calling, if you want,” she adds. “I’ll give you the house number. Just don’t call after ten. We’re not really supposed to use the phone that late.” Eddie is confused, because Richie has called Eddie on a few occasions after ten o’clock, but Eddie keeps his mouth shut and nods his head. “Here. Let me write it down for you. June, will you go grab me a pen and some paper?” Junie skips off into the house and Stephanie doesn’t make any conversation. Perhaps she does not know what to say. Eddie doesn’t either, so he doesn’t mind much. When Junie comes back she is smiling, as she always seems to.

“Here, Steffy!” Junie says, handing over the pen and paper.

“Thanks, Junie,” Stephanie says. She scribbles down the house number on the piece of paper and gives it to Eddie with a kind smile. “Give us a call tomorrow or something. I’ll try to answer and get Richie on.”

“Thanks. Sorry for bothering again,” Eddie apologizes. “Really.”

“It’s fine. Sorry Richie’s a pain.” Junie tugs on Stephanie’s hand, an upset look written across her features from how Stephanie described Richie. Stephanie sighs and glances back at Eddie. “Sorry Richie’s—being difficult.”

“It’s okay.” Eddie grins politely, lifting the piece of paper with Richie’s number on it. “Thanks again for this.” As Stephanie shuts the door, Eddie takes a step back and stares at the whole house. He wonders if he’s met all of Richie’s siblings, and how much Richie’s parents must work considering he has only had a run in with one of them (Richie’s mom?) once.

( _“Hello,” the woman says, and her straight blonde hair makes Eddie curious as to where Richie got his bouncing black curls. “Can I help you?” Eddie says nothing, just curls his fists and tries to focus on maintaining an even breathing pace. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”_ )

Eddie goes home. He doesn’t call until a few days later, marking two weeks since he has seen or heard anything from Richie. It is five PM when he picks up the phone and dials the number Stephanie gave him. The phone rings once, twice, and just as the third ring is coming around, someone answers. A not-so-familiar woman’s voice says: “Hello?” and suddenly Eddie doesn’t know what to do. Stephanie said she would answer, but surely this isn’t her. It doesn’t sound anything like her. Eddie almost hangs up, but there is shuffling on the other line and then a new voice speaks into the receiver: “Sorry. Eddie? That you?”

(Stephanie)

“Uh, yeah. Hey,” Eddie says, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I was just talking to Richie. I said you’d call,” she says. “Let me go get him.” Eddie imagines she leaves the phone hanging from the wall, because it is quiet and he is left with his own thoughts. He doesn’t know how many minutes must pass, but he sits at the table in his dining room with his mouth to the receiver. If Richie answers the phone Eddie doesn’t even know what he’ll say.

Noise sounds on the other line. “Hey, so.” Stephanie is back. “He doesn’t really wanna talk right now.”

(what did I _do_?)

“Do you know why he’s mad at me?” Eddie asks, the question spilling from his lips without thought. “Sorry. I don’t know why I asked that.” Stephanie doesn’t say anything, but Eddie thinks perhaps she is leaning away from the phone and speaking to someone else; her voice can be heard but only very lowly, and Eddie can’t make out what she’s saying.

“He’s not mad at you,” she says then. “Are you mad at him?”

(is he right there with her?)

(why won’t he just talk to me?)

“No. Why would I be mad?” Eddie says quietly, real fragile. If Richie is right there with Stephanie, why can’t he just pick up the phone? What did Eddie _do_?

“Uh. I don’t know. He’s been ghosting you for a couple of weeks. I’d be pretty mad,” she says. There is brief shuffling on her end. “Fuck,” she spits, like she’s been jabbed. “Sorry,” she tells Eddie. “So you’re not mad?”

“No. I’m not mad. I’m just… annoyed.” Eddie sighs. “Thanks anyway, Stephanie.”

“You’re always thanking me. I didn’t even do anything. I just picked up the phone because shithead wouldn’t.” Eddie chuckles. “Stop by tomorrow. I’ll force him to say something because I want you to quit wasting your time on him. Bye.” Stephanie hangs up immediately and Eddie blinks. His mind wanders, back to when Richie and him were talking on the phone about the ‘never with you’ playlist. Eddie had wanted to tell Richie he loved him.

(and I still do)

(even after all this shit)

( _especially_ after all this shit)

Eddie can only hope tomorrow Richie will talk to him. Eddie hopes for a lot. He wonders if Richie does, too. Eddie goes upstairs to his bedroom and does his homework, listens to anything but Richie’s mixes, tucks himself into bed early, and falls asleep with the soft lyrics of ‘ _how much sorrow can I take, blackbird on my shoulder?’_ pooling into his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter srry next chapter is long promise also sorry this chapter kinda sucks i tried to make it better but everything i needed is here and anything added would have been pointless filler which i hate!!!
> 
> please leave reviews or whatever i love to hear ur thoughts and i read everything u leave even if i dont replyyy
> 
>  
> 
> ps  
> EDDIE WAS LISTENING TO MYSTERY OF LOVE BY SUFJAN STEVENS at the end of the chapter if ya wanna give that a little listen very pretty song heres a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0CP9zpbmAQ


	20. Chapter 20

The lights upstairs are off; Eddie can see that much as he approaches the big brown house. He thinks maybe nobody is home, but then he realizes the lights from the kitchen and dining area shine outside on the grass. It is four PM, just after school, and Eddie is coming to visit Richie. Eddie grips onto the strap of his backpack tightly, like if he loosens his grip not only will his belongings clatter to the ground but his composure will, too. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; he is sure he will not talk to Richie. But then Eddie sees him—leaning on the fencing of the porch, smoking a cigarette, looking half-dead. Eddie almost halts in his place, because he did not come prepared. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what he’ll say to Richie. _Why did you ghost me? What did I do wrong? Sometimes I feel like you don’t even like me but yet you told Junie about me…_

As Eddie approaches Richie, and is well within Richie’s gaze, Eddie is not even acknowledged. Richie’s curls are loose, weighed down by stress and perhaps grease, and the dark circles under his eyes reflect two terribly unhealthy, ugly crescent moons. Without a word from Richie, he flicks his cigarette off the porch where he stands and into the grass beside Eddie’s feet. Neither boy says anything, and Richie refuses to look at Eddie, like if he does he will break.

Eddie doesn’t go up on the porch to face Richie; he merely gazes up at him from the grass. It has been minutes of Richie’s silence, and Eddie hates it. He hates it so much he thinks he might scream, because Richie isn’t supposed to be quiet around Eddie. Eddie is special.

“How are you?” Eddie finally asks, his voice quiet and gentle as if speaking to a small, scared animal. He knows Richie must hate that tone, that tone of _I know something is wrong so don’t you dare lie to me._

But Richie lies anyway, “Fine. How are you, Spaghetti?”

(keep calm, Eddie)

(deep breaths)

(don’t blow up)

“Have you ever told me the truth about anything?” Eddie asks calmly, at least expecting Richie to return his gaze. He doesn’t. He just reaches into his pocket and retrieves another cigarette from his pack, lights it, and smokes it, relaxed. But he tosses it out after a few moments, nicotine appetite gone.

“Of course I have,” Richie says, and Eddie wonders how often Richie lies for it to become second nature. “I’m not lying when I say I like you.”

“It doesn’t feel like you like me very much,” Eddie says honestly.

And Richie looks at him. “I think you’re the only thing I really like.”

Eddie exhales deeply, setting his bag down in the grass as he takes a seat. He says nothing, but hears the sound of Richie’s heavy footsteps coming down the porch steps. Richie sinks into the spot beside Eddie, his back leaning against the big brown house’s porch.

“What’s wrong, Richie?” Eddie asks.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Richie answers.

(lies)

(liar)

Richie stands up. Perhaps he was too close to Eddie, the feeling of their knees pressed together too intimate for the conversation they both know they are about to have. Eddie stands up, too, having had enough of Richie lying and lying and _lying._

“Don’t you trust me?” Eddie asks, a bit hurt. “Because I trust you _so much_.” Silence. Eddie throws his head back and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t hide my life from you. You’ve been to my house—I even introduced you to my _mom_ —I haven’t even met either of your parents!”

“Now who’s the liar?” Richie lets out a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t act like you’ve been telling me everything. I know there’s more shit with that guy last year you haven’t told me.”

“Okay, fine,” Eddie says, angry. “I didn’t tell you everything, but you want to know what else I didn’t do? I didn’t disappear for two whole weeks and blatantly ignore you!” Richie visibly clenches his teeth, crossing his arms. “You know how shitty that made me feel? Coming here every fucking day and having to talk to Stephanie about how you _don’t feel like seeing me right now_? It made me feel like shit, every fucking time. But I kept checking up on you because I care about you and we’re—“ Eddie pauses. They’re not together. They’re not involved. “I bet if I went MIA you wouldn’t even check on me.” Richie sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks like he’ll say something, like he’ll deny Eddie’s accusation, but Eddie doesn’t want to hear it. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?!” Eddie yells, pushing on Richie’s chest with his fist, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to convey his annoyance. Eddie is nothing but a mess of clumsy limbs and pointless shouts.

Then something in Richie’s demeanor seems to shift, a change coming to his eyes. “Nobody cares about me, Eds! Nobody _fucking_ cares. Not even my parents! _Nobody_!”

“Stop, you asshole!” Eddie screams, echoing Richie in anger and volume. Eddie tries to swat Richie but Richie catches Eddie’s fist and instead pulls him into a tight hug. “You can’t say that nobody cares about you because I’m _not_ nobody!” There are tears in Eddie’s eyes as he grips Richie’s shirt in two tight fists. He feels like yelling, or cowering, or kissing Richie senseless. Eddie is trembling.

( _“You’re nothing,” Kai spits. “You’re nobody.”_ )

“I’ve been nobody before but never around you.” Eddie pulls away from Richie, stumbling back a few feet, clumsy from his sadness. Richie looks at him. Richie just looks at him. Eddie thinks he can see the heartbreak in Richie’s eyes. “Just tell me what’s wrong, asshole. I’m trying to be here for you and you’re making it so fucking hard,” Eddie says.

Then Richie stares at Eddie, long and hard, red in the face because of his anger and his jaw clenched so hard Eddie can see the tightness in his skin. “They’re gonna throw me away! Just like the last one. Because I’m _too ‘uninvolved’_ and ‘ _not willing to try to get better’_ but I _am_ trying I’m _always_ trying they just don’t _fucking_ realize it.” Eddie doesn’t know what Richie’s going on about, but there is enough pain in Richie’s tone to bring more tears to Eddie’s eyes. “Only this time Linda is too nice to just toss me out. She’s probably looking for another home to send me to.” Richie lets out a choked laugh, and Eddie thinks Richie is crying. Richie has been keeping this all in, and now he’s breaking down, exploding, and Eddie doesn’t know if he should pick up the pieces, or how to even go about trying. “And now I’m taking all this shit out on you—I’m sorry I lie all the time, Eds, it’s just way fucking easier. When I’m with you—“ Suddenly Richie winces and rubs his mouth with his hand, uncomfortable. “When I’m with you I don’t want to be that piece of shit kid. When I’m with you I feel _special_. Is it so bad of me to want to hold onto that?”

Eddie doesn’t know who Linda is, but he thinks maybe Junie mentioned her that one time at the house, when she and Jacob were sat at the dining room table coloring and making friendship bracelets. Eddie’s eyes are trained on Richie as Richie sits back down in the grass, head on his knees, shoulders shaking.

“I’m a fuck up,” Richie says, voice empty. “My real parents didn’t want me, and now my fake parents don’t either.”

(fake parents?)

(Linda looking for another home?)

(are you…)

“Is Linda your foster mom?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie mumbles, and Eddie sits down in the grass next to Richie. He doesn’t touch him, or say anything more, he just listens to him cry, because something tells Eddie Richie has not had a good cry in a long while. The grass is a soft green, and Eddie pulls it out of the ground like a young child would, not angrily, but gently, like boredom is a best friend. “And now I’m crying like a pussy,” Richie says with a laugh. Eddie doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there, but surely many minutes have passed. “I hate to be like this.”

“Like what?” Eddie finally speaks. “Human?”

“Always humanistic, you are,” Richie replies. He lies his head across his knees, turned toward Eddie, like he wants a good look. Staring at Eddie, Richie bites his lip and sucks in sharply. Then he exhales deeply and slaps on a lopsided smile. “I guess I just wanted you to think I was simple.”

Eddie returns Richie’s gaze. “I think you’re anything but.”

Then Richie chuckles tiredly. “I know that’s not the explanation you wanted but… I don’t know. I’ve got some… stuff going on, and… I know that’s not a good reason to shut down, but sometimes—most of the time, I… can’t help it.” Eddie wants to kiss Richie, but takes his hand instead. Richie eyes their intertwined fingers with a saddened look. “It’s easier to push people away than have to explain things to them.”

“Wise words,” Eddie says, because he isn’t sure what to say at all.

“Yeah, well.” Richie snorts. “I can’t take the credit. My therapist spoon-fed me that line.”

“You have a therapist?” Eddie asks, not judgmentally, just curiously. It had never occurred to him Richie would see a therapist. Seeing a therapist frequently is actually extremely healthy, Eddie knows, despite the negative stigma around it. Richie nods. “That’s cool.”

(so he’s depressed)

(and he’s been having a depressive episode)

(I guess)

(I don’t know)

(and what about Greta’s party?)

(what was that?)

(I don’t want to ask him anything else)

(I don’t like seeing him cry)

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Richie asks, his voice quiet.

“Like what?” Eddie replies, even though he knows.

“Like… I’m a piece of shit kid. Like because you now know the chemicals in my brain are imbalanced you don’t know how to talk to me anymore.” Richie says it with a joking tone, like he’s just kidding around, but Eddie knows he is not. Eddie pushes Richie’s shoulder lightly.

“You know I don’t think that. Though you _are_ incredibly annoying and frustrating to be around.”

“Oh, Eds.” Richie places his free hand over his heart, and then there’s that _look_. That _look_ that Eddie has missed so damn much. “You wound me.”

(you wound me too)

“I missed you,” Eddie breathes.

“You missed me, huh?” Richie says, smiling cheekily in that way Eddie loves. “Missed me in a friend way or in a boyfriend way?” Eddie glares at Richie. “I missed you, too,” Richie says, and he lifts Eddie’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. Each one tender, and Eddie thinks they are all for a different apology; the first kiss for leaving Greta’s party, the second for lying, the third for disappearing, and the fourth for making it difficult to be just friends. “I missed you everywhere, always, indefinitely.”

A car engine sounds, but Eddie does not rip his hand from Richie’s; they both simply look up at the car that has pulled into Richie’s driveway. Eddie has never seen this car before. It is black and sleek, business looking, appropriate for a lawyer or doctor. Richie stands suddenly, then offers his hand out to Eddie, which Eddie takes graciously. _Oh, the things I would do to you if we were alone right now,_ Eddie wants to whisper to Richie. But he thinks Richie knows.

“Richie,” the woman who steps out of the vehicle says. She has long, straight blonde hair, and Eddie knows he has met her briefly before. “Hey. Feeling better?”

“Linda, yeah. Thanks,” Richie says, and Eddie glances at him.

( _Linda_ )

(his foster mom)

“Who’s this?” Linda asks, grabbing a bag of groceries from the passenger side. There looks to be several fruits and vegetables peeking out of the top of the bag. She is smiling as she gazes at Eddie.

“This is Eddie,” Richie says, offering Linda a close-mouthed grin. “He’s a… a friend from school.”

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, Eddie,” Linda says. She winks at him. Eddie furrows his brows, but then remembers the last time he saw Linda, he had asked her to not tell Richie he stopped by. She must not have, so now she’s acting as if the two of them had never met. Eddie smiles politely, thankful. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Uh.” Eddie looks at Richie, who licks his lips and turns to Linda to answer.

“Yeah. He will,” Richie says, nodding. Eddie feels his heart jump out of his chest, a smile breaking out across his face.

“Great. Hope you like lasagna,” Linda replies, walking up the porch steps. She lets herself inside and leaves the door open, an invitation for the two boys to spend some time inside.

“After you,” Richie says, gesturing up the steps. Eddie heads to the front door, Richie following close behind. They take their shoes off once inside, leaving them by the door with the rest of Richie’s foster family’s shoes. “Little ones are at after school,” Richie states. Eddie watches as Richie leads the way to his bedroom. They go upstairs in silence, but once they are in Richie’s bedroom, completely alone, Eddie says, “you told her about me. Junie.” Richie leans against the bed that is not his, the one closest to the bedroom door, and throws his hands over his face like he is embarrassed.

“She’s got a big mouth,” Richie says. Eddie approaches him on light feet, calmly, smiling contently.

“Reminds me of someone,” Eddie says, taking Richie’s hands off his face. Richie’s cheeks are pink, so cute. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie slowly, sensually, like this one embrace is making up for all their lost time. “God,” Eddie breathes, exasperated. He nearly rolls into Richie as Richie’s arms come up his back, lacing around his torso and pulling him in closer. “I missed you.”

(I love you I love you I love you)

(he smells so _good_ )

(I’m in love with you I just know I am)

In Richie’s arms, Eddie thinks he may never be unhappy again. Eddie feels Richie tug him closer, desperate for more affection, for more love, and at an attempt to get closer, Eddie lifts his legs up and around Richie’s waist. How is it possible to be so close and yet to desire more? Eddie just wants to envelope Richie, to sink into his skin, to become part of him.

“Eds. Eddie. Eddie,” Richie whispers, holding him. “I’m sorry. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

(I could never give up on you)

(I love you so)

“It’s okay,” Eddie whispers back, his face buried in Richie’s right shoulder. Suddenly Richie sinks back onto the spare bed, taking Eddie down with him. Eddie lies on top of Richie, peering down on him, and so he raises a hand to tease Richie’s lips. Dragging his index finger across Richie’s lips, Richie watches Eddie with careful eyes before snatching Eddie’s finger between his teeth lightly. “Never with you,” Eddie says quietly, rethinking the statement, because there it is in the back of his mind, as always. “You,” Eddie begins but stops. _I love you,_ he wants to say, but the words are tied to his tongue and he thinks he will die with them there. “Just you.”

“Me?” Richie asks, poking himself in the chest, eyebrows raised. He drags his finger and bops Eddie on the nose, saying, “You.” Eddie knows his words don’t make sense, but Richie tries to make sense of them anyway. “You sound like some kind of poet, Spaghetti. I thought I was the songwriter, but maybe you are instead.”

“You own that title. Don’t worry,” Eddie replies. “Am I hurting you?” he asks; he had not stopped to consider perhaps this position is uncomfortable for Richie, what with carrying all of Eddie’s weight on top of him. They are flat against each other, flush, with Richie sat back on his elbows.

“No,” Richie says, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s clothed shoulder. “I like you here. So pretty to look at.” Staring at Richie, Eddie can just barely remember the distance memory that is Richie’s kiss. It has been weeks. It is too hard being friends, too hard to ignore the feelings begging to be released—to be _expressed._ Eddie’s mother is off his back by now, only minor suspicions lasting, if anything. Safe enough. Eddie leans in, closer to Richie, and brushes their noses ever so gently. Eddie presses their lips together in a kiss so sweet it purrs innocence. _Just one kiss,_ Eddie tells himself, but then he is moving in for a second, and a third, and he thinks they may never part, nor does he want to. They are not kissing like they have forgotten each other’s mouths; they are kissing like they have all the time in the world to start memorizing them. Delicately, but passionately, like lovers on a honeymoon.

“ _God,_ I missed this,” Richie says into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie can feel Richie’s fingers on his chin. They have shifted into a different position, both of them lying on their sides. “I love this mouth of yours, Jesus, Eds.”

“Mmm.” The sound rumbles from deep within Eddie’s throat. Richie stops kissing Eddie and Eddie opens his eyes, dazed, wanting to see what’s the matter. But Richie’s just looking at him.

“If you keep this up I won’t be able to face everyone at dinner,” Richie says honestly. At first Eddie doesn’t understand, so he stares at Richie blankly. “I don’t wanna have a hard on in front of Linda and Junie and them. I’m not into that kinky shit.” Eddie blushes.

“Oh.”

“You’re just too damn irresistible. I can’t handle myself when I’m around you. You do things to me, Eddie.” Richie runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. “Love this hair. Love this. Love everything.”

(love _you_ )

Eddie snatches Richie’s hand from his hair and presses a honey sweet kiss to his palm.

(I love you)

“I wanted to be with you, that night. At Greta’s party,” Richie says then, eyeing Eddie’s actions. “I always want to be with you. It just doesn’t always work out. I got too… anxious… and had a panic attack in the bathroom.”

(is that why you ran the water?)

(you didn’t want me to hear you?)

“Sorry for making you go,” is Eddie’s reply, still kissing the same spot on Richie’s palm.

“You didn’t make me go. I wanted to go,” Richie clarifies.

(I love you)

(do you love me too?)

(it feels like you do)

“Do you think Linda saw us? Outside?” Eddie asks suddenly, curiously, without fear. There is no way Linda did not see the way Eddie looked at Richie, love in his eyes, and the way Richie peppered a kiss to each of Eddie’s knuckles. Yet Linda showed no discrimination. Richie stares at Eddie and brings a hand up to caress Eddie’s cheek. He swipes his thumb across Eddie’s cheek smoothly, thinking.

“Yeah. I think she did,” Richie replies. “But I don’t think she cares.”

(she seems so nice)

(is she nice to you?)

(is she really going to throw you away?)

“Is she nice?” Eddie asks, unable to stop himself.

“She’s probably the nicest woman I’ve ever met.” Eddie does not want to ask about Richie’s birthmother. “But she’s been distant lately, more secretive. Makes me think they’re looking to send me away.” Eddie feels his chest tighten. He immediately puts his hand on top of Richie’s hand, the one caressing his face.

“You can’t go,” Eddie says.

“I know,” Richie says, but his words don’t match the look in his eyes. Eddie wishes he could read Richie like an open book. He wonders if anyone can. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie Spaghetti.”

(you better not)

“Boys!” comes Linda’s shout. “Dinner!”

Eddie rolls off of Richie and stares up at the ceiling. “Who’s bed is this?” he asks. Richie gets up and stretches.

“Some kid who was here before. Left before I got here,” he answers. “Let’s go downstairs.” They head downstairs in silence. At the dinner table sits Junie, Jacob, Stephanie, a tall man whom Eddie has not met before, and Linda. Linda is dishing out lasagna and some vegetables, but looks up and smiles at Eddie and Richie as they enter the dining area.

“Eddie!” Junie says, grinning. She’s holding a green bean in her right hand, seemingly not bothering with cutlery. Eddie smiles at her and watches as Richie sits down next to Junie. Richie pats the empty seat next to him, the head of the table. Eddie sits down. “Linda said you were coming for dinner. I’m so excited! Isn’t this fun, Richie?!” Richie smiles at Junie and helps Linda dish out the food.

“Hi, Eddie,” Jacob says quietly, his head cocked to the side.

“Hey,” Eddie says.

“We meet again, Eddie,” Stephanie says, chewing her food. “Glad this loser here finally gave you the time of day.”

“Stephanie,” Linda says, her tone a warning, like how a mother would speak to a daughter. “We’re glad to have you, Eddie,” Linda says. “We don’t get visitors too often. It’s nice.” Then she taps herself on the forehead like she’s forgotten to mention something. She gestures to the man sitting beside her. “This is my husband: Rob.”

“Hello, Eddie,” Rob says. “You know Richie from school?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Thanks for having me over for dinner.”

“You’re welcome anytime, dear,” Linda says, still grinning. “Shall we eat?”

The meal is wonderful, and Eddie doesn’t even care that he didn’t call his mother to let her know he would be out for dinner. Richie’s foster family is so kind, and sweet, and caring, and he finds it hard to believe they do not enjoy having Richie around. Linda and Rob make conversation, but it is mostly Junie and Stephanie that talk. Richie makes his comments here and there, and casually bickers with Stephanie like they are truly related. Eddie finds the whole meal refreshing. Jacob only pipes up to say a few words here and there, but he mostly whispers to Junie like he’s not comfortable with everyone hearing what he is saying. It’s oddly cute. By the time dinner is over, it is six PM and it is just getting dark out.

“Want me to walk you home?” Richie asks Eddie as Eddie tugs on his shoes. Everyone is in the living room watching TV, some game show where they all call out the answers. Linda had asked Eddie to take part, but Eddie politely declined and said he had to get home to his mother.

“No. It’s okay. You look tired,” Eddie says. He leans his body to see if they are within the vision of Richie’s family. They are not, so Eddie purses his lips and puts his hand in Richie’s hair. Richie instantly sinks into Eddie’s touch. “You should get some sleep.”

“I will,” Richie says, smiling lopsidedly. “One day you’ll spend the night.” Eddie’s eyes widen. It is not a question; it is a statement.

“Yeah. I will.” Eddie takes Richie into his arms, breathes him in, digs his head into his shoulder. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asks quietly. He feels Richie nod.

“I wish you would,” Richie replies, equally as quiet. And Eddie pulls his head back to face Richie full on. He kisses him once, gently, just a peck, something to tide them both over. “I love your kisses. The best kisses.” Eddie lets go, but keeps hold of Richie’s hand. “I’ll be at school tomorrow. Keep an eye out.”

“I’d kiss you hello if I could,” Eddie says. “One day I will.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Richie chuckles. “It’s getting late. Get home before your mom beats your ass for ditching her.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Eddie pulls on his backpack as Richie opens the front door. “If I don’t make it to school tomorrow it means she’s killed me.”

“I’ll avenge your death,” Richie says. “Bye. I’ll miss you.”

“I always miss you. Bye.” Eddie leaves and Richie closes the door behind him. Eddie knows he will be in trouble with his mother when he gets home, but he can’t find it in himself to care; Richie has opened up, and started to let Eddie into his life. Eddie knows there is much more to Richie than what he has found out today, but he knows it will take time to get the full story. And, Eddie knows that the half-truth is better than no truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now you know....  
> leave me ur thoughts hehe
> 
> off topic but i finally thought of a byler fic idea so once ugly moon is over u KNOW im writing that shh


	21. Chapter 21

Eddie watches with heavy eyes as Richie smokes his second cigarette of the day, his first day back at school since his depressive episode. They are at lunch, but the other losers left early at the request in Eddie’s eyes. Alone time with Richie; it is Eddie’s favorite time. The smoke that Richie exhales dances in the air before it is swept away by the wind, it’s presence gone but it’s effect surely taking its toll in his system. Eddie knows Richie can feel his eyes; he slips him a sideways look of curiosity, lips curling around the base of his cigarette. He inhales. He exhales.

“Would you ever consider quitting?” Eddie asks.

“Eds,” Richie breathes. “I like you plenty. I think you’re the cutest boy in the world. When I’m not with you all I want to do is be with you.” Eddie furrows his brows, flattered but confused as to where Richie is going with this. “But there is no way in hell I would ever quit smoking. Not for you. Not for anybody. We’re a package deal, me and this guy.” He tilts his hand and wiggles the cigarette in between his fingers, bringing Eddie’s attention to it. Then he shrugs one shoulder, looking as if he couldn’t care less. “Sorry.”

“It was just a question,” Eddie says in disbelief. He wasn’t expecting Richie to go off. “I wasn’t asking you to do anything for me.”

“Smoking helps me release some of the shit I have going on up here. At least for a little while.” Richie taps the side of his head. “Not to mention it helps with stress, and _boy_ , am I stressed out.” He chuckles and Eddie’s heart drops. Eddie is pretty sure cigarettes do no good; all they do is heighten anxiety, from what he knows. Perhaps the negative look Eddie wears is visible on his face, because suddenly Richie sits up a little taller, looking displeased and uncomfortable, and he takes his cigarette and digs its light into the picnic table. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate when you look at me like that.”

Eddie looks away immediately. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything.”

“Yeah you were,” Richie says simply. Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes on him. “I don’t like pity.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” Eddie shoots back, locking eyes with Richie; he is unable to help himself. “Can’t I just think that you deserve better than what you’ve got?” Richie says nothing, but seems to look disheartened. He sighs and runs a hand through his curly hair, giving it a tough yank once he reaches the middle of his head.

“Sorry, Eds,” Richie says. “I get snappy sometimes. I wish I didn’t.”

(don’t wish anything to be different about you)

(for some reason I like you just like this)

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. It is quiet for a few moments. Eddie considers reaching out and touching Richie’s face, desperate to feel his silky skin. “I know I say this a lot, but my offer still stands. About you talking to me.”

(you don’t have to do everything alone)

(don’t you know that?)

“It’s just a lot, Eddie,” Richie says, exhaling deeply, lips vibrating. He’s staring off into the distance. “You know? With Linda and everything. She doesn’t say so much to me anymore. Smiles a lot, but that’s nothing new. Makes me feel weird… like something’s off.” He pauses and bites his lip, stealing a glance at Eddie. “Like they’re one step away from telling me I have to go.”

“They wouldn’t send you away,” Eddie counters, quickly, almost too quick. “I saw it at dinner. They love you. Junie loves you. They want you to stick around. I know it.” Eddie’s words are sweet, and he does not know who he is trying to convince, Richie or himself. _You can’t leave me,_ Eddie aches to say, _I won’t let them take you away._

“We can only hope,” Richie says, and he pats his pocket like he wants another cigarette, but doesn’t make any movement to grab one. The silence is different then the usual ones that fall amongst them; Eddie knows that Richie is thinking the same thing as him, that they are both tense because Richie has never quite gotten what he deserved, and that he might very likely be moving away very soon. “Can I hold your hand?” Richie asks. There is nobody around; everyone is inside eating lunch, getting ready for class. From how they are sitting, with Richie propped up on the picnic table, back turned to the school, and Eddie sitting on the bench, gazing up at him, nobody would see. So Eddie nods, and Richie slips his calloused hand into Eddie’s.

“How’s your mom?” Richie asks, a question he must have been sitting on for a long time.

“She seems okay. She’s stopped monitoring my every move, at least.”

“See? My two-week vacation did something good. Mrs. K is off your back.” Richie grins, but Eddie frowns. He doesn’t think that joke is very funny. “Sorry, Eddie Spaghetti. Didn’t mean to make you frown.” Reaching down with his free hand, Richie pokes Eddie at the side of his mouth, in the spot where dimples would typically fall. “Where’s that smile?”

Eddie can’t help but giggle. “You’re so annoying.”

“Your smile says _differently_ ,” Richie sings the last word childishly, teasing.

“I haven’t heard you sing in a while,” Eddie thinks out loud, squeezing Richie’s hand. “You still singing?”

“Not at Patsy’s, but on my own, yeah. You miss my singing, baby?”

The world stops.

(baby)

( _baby_ )

(did he just call me _baby?_ )

(I’m gonna die here)

“Cat got your tongue?” Richie asks. Eddie is blushing so hard he feels as though he might die from embarrassment. How could Richie calling him _baby_ just put him at a full stop? “Oh no, that would be me,” Richie says, and he quickly looks around before capturing Eddie’s lips in a kiss. Eddie practically melts then and there, like some kind of lovesick puppy. Eddie feels Richie’s tongue press against his own; it curls inside his mouth like he is searching for something he misplaced long ago. When Richie pulls back, he brushes some of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and says, in the softest voice, “You might see less of me, Spaghetti.”

“What?” Eddie asks, because Richie seems to be doing okay today. There is no reason for Eddie to see less of him; all Eddie wants to see is more.

“They’re thinking about not letting me move onto the next year unless I make up all the work I missed. Which is…” Richie winces, leaning back from Eddie, “A lot.”

“I could help,” Eddie offers.

“I appreciate the offer, but Linda would have my ass if she knew you were helping me finish up my assignments.”

“Okay. But my offer will continue to stand.”

“Thanks, Spaghetti,” Richie says, and Eddie hopes they’ll kiss again. They do not.

“It’s not that bad.” Richie shrugs. “At least they’re giving me options. My last school would’ve just made me repeat the grade. But because of my ‘condition’ or whatever they’re being nice about it.” Eddie wants to ask more, but bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to intrude. Richie already hates talking about himself. Richie seems to notice Eddie’s expression and chokes out a laugh. “You can ask, Eddie. You deserve a better explanation than the one I gave you yesterday. That was a pretty sad excuse of one, anyway.”

Then it is okay to ask. “So… explain?”

“Had a really bad depressive episode,” Richie says, like it is nothing. “When I get like that I don’t like to see anybody. Hard to get out of bed. All that.”

Eddie feels sad. “Are you okay?”

“For the meantime, I think, yeah. It’s a good day. I don’t feel so… heavy, you know?” Then he shakes his head. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it does,” Eddie says quickly. He sits with Richie’s answer. “Can I ask one more question?”

“Ask away,” Richie replies.

“Do you know why you get like that? Like… what causes it, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Richie says simply. “I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t. My therapist thinks I should lie less.” He grins like he’s told a funny joke. The bell rings, and Eddie stands up from his seat lazily, disappointed to have to go back to class. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?” Eddie asks.

(kiss me)

“Sure is, my love.” As the words leave Richie’s mouth, Eddie wonders how it is possible to be deeply in love with someone, and still somehow fall deeper.

…

After school, Eddie goes with Ben at the library. They are supposed to be studying, but Eddie has too much on his mind. He watches as Ben thoughtfully fills out the answers on his history study guide, flipping through pages of his textbook to confirm his responses. Richie was at school today, bubbly like his old self. He had smiled at Eddie when Eddie walked into Math five minutes late (his alarm failed to go off), like he knows a secret Eddie does not. While Eddie is relieved and excited for Richie to be back at school, he is still concerned about Richie’s mental health. Which is why he taps Ben’s shoulder as he is studying, and asks, “What do you know about depression?”

Ben is the smartest person Eddie knows, apart from Richie.

“Uh,” Ben says, looking up from his page. “Textbook stuff. It’s a mood disorder… so it affects how you feel. It can make people feel worthless, and make you tired, or make you suicidal…” Ben thinks. “It makes it difficult for people to engage in activities that would usually interest them. There are several branches to it, and it varies from person to person... Why do you ask?”                                

Eddie blinks, and clutches his pencil tightly. He shrugs. “I was just wondering.”

“I have a book about it, I think. If you want to borrow it,” Ben suggests.

“Could I? Thanks,” Eddie says.

“No problem.” Ben smiles and returns to his work. Eddie feels a little foolish, a little ignorant, but he wants to know more about depression in general so he can be there for Richie in the right way. He doesn’t even know what kind of depression Richie has, but he can’t really ask, can he? That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Eddie shrugs to himself and takes a deep breath. “Everything okay?” Ben asks, looking back at Eddie.

“Yeah. Just bored.”

“Okay.” Ben smiles, his pencil twitching in his hand. “How’s Richie? He was back at school today.”

“I think he’s okay,” Eddie says, and he feels oddly selfish talking about Richie. He always wants to talk about him. He wonders if Richie talks about him often, with Junie or his therapist. “I don’t know. He’s not so good at talking about his feelings.”

“Do you think he’s depressed?” Ben asks, having come to this conclusion through Eddie’s previous questioning. Eddie feels a little stupid, with being so obvious. “He shows a few of the signs. I wouldn’t be shocked.”

“He told me he was,” Eddie replies, thinking it’s okay; it’s just _Ben._ Ben is sweet and understanding.

“I figured he was. He’s always so tired and he’s really thin.”

“What’s his weight have to do with his mentality?” Eddie asks curiously. He’s never heard of this before.

“Depression can make it difficult for people to gain weight, is all.”

“Oh.” Eddie feels a little stupid. “I didn’t know that.”

“The effects vary from person to person, though.” Ben shrugs, and that is the end of this conversation. Eddie doesn’t mind so much. The hours at the library pass quickly, and neither Ben nor Eddie says much; they are focused on their studies and completing their homework for the following day, and Eddie has done his rambling with Ben already. It is six PM when Ben closes his textbook, and Eddie follows suit. “I should get going. I told my mom I’d be back in time for dinner,” Ben says, packing up his things. Eddie nods along.

“Sure. I told my mom the same thing,” Eddie says. As they exit the library, Ben waves goodbye and says he’ll see Eddie at school tomorrow. “Yeah, bye!” And Eddie rides his bike home, trying not to think too hard. The strong wind hits his face as he cycles, oddly refreshing. It is dark out, but Eddie doesn’t mind. When he arrives home he knows he is late, but parks his bike at the side of the house and walks in like he is not going to be in trouble. “Hey,” Eddie tells his mother as soon as he walks through the door. She is standing at the end of the hall, as if she has been waiting. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, though he is not. He wishes he never had to come home.

“You’re late often,” Sonia says, frowning. “I worry about you, Eddie-bear.”

“You don’t need to worry, Ma,” Eddie replies. “I’m just spending time with my friends.”

“Not that _Richie_ , I hope.” Eddie hates the way his mother says Richie’s name, like it puts a bad taste in her mouth. “He’s not a good influence on you, especially not if he’s a homosexual.”

(keep calm)

(don’t say anything)

(just go upstairs)

But Eddie doesn’t want to. He is _sick_ and _tired_ of his mother. After sixteen long years, he has run out of steam. He wants to scream. Punch. Kick. He doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks, or how the aftermath of this situation will play out. She is the wrong one, not him.

“Would it be so bad if he was?” Eddie asks, his tone stern. Sonia’s gaze darkens.

“What has gotten into you, Edward? You are not the boy I raised.”

“You’re right. I’m not. Thank _God._ ” Eddie takes off his coat and hangs it up, pushing past his mother to go upstairs to his room. “I’m not hungry for dinner,” he says, before she makes any comments. He hears her huff as he walks upstairs. He slams the door to his bedroom and sits down on his bed, dropping his bag on the floor. “Did I just do that?” Eddie asks himself, pressing a hand to his chest. “Jesus fuck.”

(what did I just do?)

(fuck)

(she was badmouthing Richie)

Eddie clenches his fists by his sides, agitated. He doesn’t want to just sit there and _take_ it anymore. Who is he if he just sits there and _takes it_? Richie doesn’t deserve that. Richie isn’t bad. Neither is being gay. The fact that his mother thinks both those things are true makes Eddie feel sick to his stomach. He’s scared, but he can’t stay in the closet forever. Nor does he _want to._ But then again… his mother could send him away, kick him out, put him on more fake drugs. Eddie sighs. It’s too much. Why should any teenager have to deal with this kind of weight on their shoulders? It’s tiring.

 _Soon,_ Eddie thinks, _I’ll show her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its almost over folks!   
> leave me something xox


	22. Chapter 22

Beginning of April. Eddie and Mike are at Mike’s house. They have been hanging out the entire day, laughing, joking around, but suddenly the atmosphere seems to change with the pace of the wind. Mike turns to Eddie, completely serious, his grin morphed into a crooked line. It is strange, because from before he even speaks, Eddie seems to know what he will say. It doesn’t make it any easier once Mike _does_ say it: “Have you thought about telling Richie about Kai? Like, the _full_ story?” He pauses, shifting, considering, then lifts a hand to continue. “It just seems fair. He came clean about his whole situation. Why shouldn’t he know about Kai?”

“It’s not that Richie shouldn’t know about Kai, it’s just…” _Less embarrassing? Less humiliating?_ “Easier for him not to.”

“Okay but… wouldn’t it be easier for Richie if he didn’t have to tell you about Linda and them?” Mike asks, quirking an eyebrow. Eddie hates that Mike is right all the time. Eddie sighs deeply and sinks further into the mattress of Mike’s bed. “You said something to me once, or a few times, about how you wish he weren’t so secretive. Isn’t it normal to think maybe Richie wishes the same about you? I mean, he said it himself: he _knows_ there’s more to the whole Kai story.”

In truth, Eddie doesn’t want Richie to know. Kai is in the past, and Eddie so desperately wishes to keep him there. If he brings up the whole Kai situation to Richie… what if Richie doesn’t like him anymore? What if Richie realizes what a loser Eddie really is? What if he leaves him? What if they don’t kiss anymore? What if—

A hand is on Eddie’s shoulder, shaking him. Mike stares at Eddie, closer than he was seconds before. “Don’t go there, Eddie,” Mike says, rubbing Eddie’s back. Turning his head to steal a look at Mike, Eddie is grounded. Discouraging thoughts still haunt him, but Mike’s hand is present, and so is Eddie. “Don’t make yourself anxious by overthinking. It’ll be okay. Just, consider telling him? Okay? You don’t want him to hear from someone else.”

(you’re right)

(that’s the worst thing that could happen)

(it _almost_ happened)

(with that stupid guy Richie punched)

(fuck)

“I will tell him. I will,” Eddie says, hoping Mike can’t see through his obvious lie. Mike just narrows his eyes. “I _will_ tell him, Mike.” They both know Eddie will not. As Eddie sighs, he shuffles in his seat on Mike’s bed and gazes out Mike’s bedroom window. “I just… it’s so fucking _embarrassing,_ Mike. I don’t want Richie to know all that stuff. It’s bad enough the whole school knows it, but now my boyfriend has to know it, too?”

“Your boyfriend?” Mike asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “I thought you weren’t putting a label on it.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up furiously. He crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re not. You know what I mean, Mike.”

“Anyway. Your boyfriend should be the _first_ one to know about that kind of thing.”

“You’re right. I know you are. I just…”

“Wanna postpone it for as long as possible?” Mike guesses. Eddie nods. “I get that. But… don’t. He’ll want to know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “You’re right. Thanks, Mike.”

“No problem,” Mike replies. “What am I here for if not dating advice? I do have two boyfriends, the least I can do is help you with your _one_.” Eddie laughs and Mike smiles along. Eddie is grateful to have Mike in his life. If he did not, things would be thirty times harder, and he doubts he would smile nearly as much.

The next day at school, Ben approaches Eddie at his locker. It is minutes before first period starts, so Eddie is about to zoom off to class. Ben stops him with a gentle shout of his name, and rushes to catch Eddie as he closes the door to his top locker. Holding a book out to Eddie, Ben smiles softly before saying, “I meant to give this to you a while ago. Here. It’s the book I was talking about that day at the library…” Then his voice gets real low, “The one that I thought might help with Richie.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, scanning the book cover. It reads _Depression and Other Mood Disorders._ Taking it graciously, Eddie’s eyes run through the back of the book so he can get a good idea of what he’s diving into. It doesn’t look like it’ll be too heavy of a read, and there’s a huge table of contents that’ll help him skim right through what he wants. “Thanks so much, Ben,” he says, tucking the book under his arm. “I’ll give it back once I’m done. I dunno how long I’ll have it for, though.”

“No worries. Just give it back whenever,” Ben replies. “I gotta go to class now. See you at lunch!” As Ben takes off, Eddie heads to his first class. He not so diligently hides the book behind his class textbook, attempting to do some research before he heads home, for he is impatient and concerned. Richie has been okay lately. Just okay. No depressive episodes that cause him to be away from school, and he’s not ignoring Eddie at all, which is more than Eddie can ask for. He has, however, been distant to make up his schoolwork. After their conversation the previous week, Richie has been studying nonstop. He says it’s so he can move up a grade, but part of Eddie feels like Richie is trying to impress Linda, like if he works hard enough she won’t send him away.

But Eddie tries not to think about that so much.

 

**Table of Contents.**

**Major Depressive Disorder… 7**

**Mood, anhedonia and loss of interest… 8**

**Change in eating, appetite, or weight… 10**

**Sleep… 13**

**Motor activity… 17**

**Fatigue and concentration… 20**

**Thoughts of death and suicide… 23**

Eddie decides that is a good a place as any to start. He flips to page seven and scans over the page, which is just explaining the basics of Major Depressive Disorder. The symptoms (of those that do, or could, apply to Richie are): being in a depressed mood/state for two weeks or more, loss of interest in activities that are usually interesting/important to the subject, feelings of emptiness, worthlessness, guilt, general changes in appetite, problems concentrating, and finally, thoughts of suicide/death. The page then goes on to list similar disorders and how they relate or differ, so Eddie skips over to the first section of Major Depressive Disorder: loss of interest.

As he reads, Eddie realizes that this could apply to Richie. He hasn’t been singing very much at Patsy’s lately, and he hasn’t shared anything new with Eddie. _Okay_ , Eddie thinks, _what else?_ A person experiencing anhedonia (the loss of interest in activities usually inviting) may appear depressed to other people. Ben _did_ mention he always noticed something with Richie’s mood. How hadn’t Eddie seen it? Or perhaps he had, he just didn’t know what it was. Shaking his head, Eddie feels his shoulders slump and his focus drop. Why can’t he pick up on things? Why hadn’t he _known_? Or… why hadn’t Richie told him sooner?

(probably for the same reason you didn’t tell him about kai)

(you idiot)

Sighing, he turns the page and reads on about appetite. The person (Richie) might have weight gain or weight loss. Like what Ben mentioned before. Richie is quite thin. That makes sense. Said person could also experience under eating or over eating. Before Eddie started sharing his lunch with Richie, Richie hadn’t been eating much, and Eddie always thought it was just because Richie was lazy, but perhaps Richie just wasn’t hungry. That makes sense to Eddie. ‘Small amounts of food may be enough to sustain their hunger.’ _Yes. Definitely._

Hypersomnia or _insomnia,_ Eddie pauses there. A given.

He skims and skims. Finally—fatigue. They will experience fatigue, tiredness, or loss of energy. All very Richie, all very plausible. Day-to-day tasks become difficult, very lethargic.

Eddie bookmarks the page.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” the teacher says. Eddie shuts the book quickly and swallows thickly, palms budding with sweat. _Shit._ “I doubt whatever other schoolwork you’re doing is as important as this lesson. Put it away. Now.” Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, Eddie puts the book away and promises to read more about it later.

…

Richie catches Eddie before he leaves to go home after school. Richie wasn’t at lunch. He has been skipping his lunch period to study in the library. “Any time is study time,” he had told Eddie before running a hand through his hair and skipping down the hallway.

“Hey,” Eddie says now, putting a hand on Richie’s arm as Richie pants. Richie jogged over to Eddie for some reason. Eddie thought it a little silly, as if he wasn’t going to wait for Richie. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just wanted to get you before you left,” Richie says. He lets out one long sigh and leans against the lockers, looking Eddie up and down. “Wow. You look so cute today. I didn’t notice before. Only saw you for a split second, you cutie. How long you been hiding this wonder outfit?” Eddie knows he is blushing. He is only wearing the simplest of things, jeans and a shirt over a sweater. The sweater is new, however, and it warms Eddie’s heart oddly to see Richie picked up on it. It is an expensive sweater that Beverly made Eddie buy on a day out. It is a light pink, and needs not to be worn with a jacket with the cool spring air. Eddie loved it on the rack, loved it when he looked in the mirror this morning, and he loves it now, with Richie’s eyes tracing him like an artist’s brush to their easel.

“Stop being stupid,” is all Eddie can manage, waving Richie off.

“Stupid is my middle name, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Finally, you say something I can agree with.” Eddie giggles and Richie pretends to glare. “So did you stop me for any reason? Or did you just wanna get a good look before you went back to studying?”

“I’m always down for a good look, and don’t get me wrong, I’ve _got_ one. But I wanted to give you this,” as he speaks, Richie slips his backpack off his shoulder and sticks his hand inside, moving around quickly and in a hurry, but he cannot seem to find what he is looking for. A few minutes pass, with Richie muttering, “Son of a bitch. Hang on, Eds. I know it’s in here… Where the fuck did I put it? One second, it’s gotta be… here! Finally. Stupid thing.” Richie zips his bag back up, the surprise enclosed in his hand, but Eddie already knows what it is. “Here. **3.** Special delivery for my Spaghetti. For my _boyfriend_. Different vibes to this one.”

“We haven’t decided anything,” Eddie says, lips pursed as he fights a smile.

“You might not have,” Richie replies. “But you’ve been my boyfriend for a long time now.” Richie hands the tape over without another word. As soon as Eddie takes it, he slips it out of its case. He needs to see what this one says, and Richie is watching with amused eyes, once again relaxed up against the lockers and peering down at Eddie.

“Somebody’s impatient. You like my mixes, huh?” Richie teases.

“Love them,” Eddie replies without thought. Then there is Richie’s terrible scrawl, barely legible but Eddie has gotten better at reading it. Richie wrote: _I’m up with the sun, anxious but thinking of you._ “What the fuck…” Looking up at Richie, Eddie breaks out into a smile. He looks around. Nobody is here. Everybody must already be outside or still in classrooms. “You fucking… I… Let me kiss you.”

“Kiss me, then, if you feel so inclined.” Richie leans down. It is nothing more than a peck; Eddie is excited, wants to put his hands all over Richie, but the kids at school are not so kind. Another time, Eddie thinks, when they are truly alone. “That’s a sad excuse of a kiss but I guess I’ll take it.” Eddie puts a reasonable distance between himself and Richie, but passes it off casually. He doesn’t think Richie notices.

“I can’t wait to listen to this, _wow_ ,” Eddie thinks out loud. “Thank you. I love it.”

(I love you)

(I fucking love you)

(why can’t I say it out loud?)

( _I’m up with the sun, anxious but thinking of you_ )

(if that’s not confessing to me then what is?)

“I love that you love it,” Richie says, and he reaches down to tilt Eddie’s chin up and kiss his nose. So sweet, so precious. “I really have to go, though. Linda is expecting me back on time. Can’t have her wondering where I am.” There is no mention about Richie’s worry of Linda and Rob looking for another home, so Eddie does not mention it, does not ask. This is a good day for Richie, Eddie can tell. He has not been in a good mood for a long while. He deserves it. “So I’ll see you,” Richie says. “ _Baby._ ”

As Eddie lights up like a Christmas tree, Richie barks out a laugh.

“God! I’ll never get tired of that. You’re the cutest ever, baby. A real sweetie for sure.”

“Just _stop_ ,” Eddie moans, feigning annoyance, when in fact, he would pay all the money he has saved for Richie to call him baby again. “Go home. Linda’s waiting.”

“Alright. I’ll go since you’re insisting.” Richie begins to walk away backwards, still facing Eddie. Pointing a finger at Eddie, Richie forms a stern look on his face. “You better listen to that.”

“As soon as I get home,” Eddie promises. As Richie exits, Eddie rushes to pack up his backpack, to put the mix safe in the inside pocket, so that when he gets home he can just _listen and listen and listen…_ and hopefully daydream of Richie some. Once outside, Eddie hops on his bike and hurries home. He is practically _bursting._ He doesn’t remember the last time he was this excited. He parks his bike at the side of his house when he arrives, and hops up the stairs with newfound energy. He could sing, he’s so happy.

And then there’s Sonia. Waiting for him at the door, arms crossed, blocking the entryway. Eddie deflates, immediately. His voice is brittle, and small, when he says, “Hey, Ma.”

“Eddie,” she says. “You’re awfully bright this afternoon.”

“Yeah.” Eddie audibly shrinks back, his hand grasping his backpack strap anxiously. “Just had a good day is all.”

“With Richie?” she asks.

(why is she suddenly hung up on him now?)

(what’s going on?)

“What if it was because of him?” Eddie presses, wanting to know how deep a hole he can dig for himself before he can’t breathe. Sonia crosses her arms and stands up taller. She is still protected by the screen door to Eddie’s house, with Eddie standing outside. He knows something is about to happen right now, and whatever it is might lead to Eddie not being allowed inside. His skin crawls at the thought, fear rooted in the pit of his stomach. But deep within his anxiety lies courage, too. _Maybe all it takes is one person to make you brave_ , Eddie thinks, _or maybe I’ve been brave all along and Richie just brings out the best in me._

“What do you have against gay people?” Eddie asks, straight to the point. Fists clenched, he watches as Sonia crumbles, disheartened, disappointed, a knowing look on her face, for she may be an asshole but she is not stupid.

“Edward,” Sonia spits. “How _dare_ you even ask that?.”

“So you don’t have an answer?” Eddie scoffs, somewhat a laugh. “What if I was gay?”

There it is.

“Don’t say that, Eddie.”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. Now he is the one angry. “What if I was? What would you do?”

“You’re sick,” Sonia says, her face ashen.

(okay, that’s it)

“No _you’re_ sick. The only thing _I’m sick of_ is being treated like a child. You don’t _get_ to tell me what to do. I’m almost eighteen for God’s sake! I’ll be seventeen at the end of August, or did you forget? What are you going to do when I’m not here to boss around? What then, Ma?”

(I’m dead meat)

(but I’m so done with this shit)

There is not a word to describe the look on Sonia Kaspbrak’s face. Disappointment? Shock? Not anger… fear? Eddie opens the door and pushes past her; she is not so daunting anymore. At least now she knows. She did not throw him out, or try to send him away (at least not yet). She just stood there. Looking different. Eddie doesn’t care. He goes upstairs, tosses his backpack on the floor, takes out **3** , plugs in his headphones, sits on his bed, and turns onto the first track. He imagines Richie, loving Richie, and hears…

_Wonder how I got by this week; only touched you once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERES 3- https://goo.gl/poBbKn  
> chapter is short whatcha gonna do
> 
>  
> 
> btw announcement!  
> idk what fic im writing next.  
> thought i had an idea for a byler fic but i truly hate everything i think of and do NOT want to start another story i cant feel passionate about. so here's what im thinking. i have another reddie fic idea and ive already started writing it, itll be shorter than ugly moon in chapters but a lot in word count if that makes sense? during my writing of that fic im going to brainstorm ideas for my byler fic.  
> thanks for coming to my ted talk
> 
>  
> 
> also sidenote i literally used wikipedia for that shit dont tell me its inaccurate thats some teacher bullshit but yeah full disclaimer i used wikipedia for the brief summary of mdd i also did research outside it im sorry class


	23. Chapter 23

_**3**_. I’m up with the sun, anxious but thinking of you. Eddie’s favorite and Richie’s best. There is so much emotion, and vulnerability, and comfort hidden between the lyrics of each song Richie picked so diligently. There is always so much thought and time devoted to Richie’s mixes; Eddie can vividly imagine Richie slouched over his guitar, singing his favorite songs, marking down the handful that stand out… that make him think of Eddie. The first track is upbeat, but still a little down, full of desire, wish, _want._ All the things Eddie experiences when he’s around Richie. It’s nice to know Richie feels the same way.

(I feel it too)

(I wish your arms were around me)

The first track features dozens of lyrics that are undeniably Richie, but the few Eddie can’t shake go as follows: ‘ _Always feel inadequate’_ and ‘ _Mama told me not to try and I should have taken her advice’_ and ‘ _Even if I lose again I won't quit’_ and _‘My insecurities are my own worst enemy’._ The chorus is enchanting, haunting, with lyrics of ‘ _I wonder how I got by this week; only touched you once’_ and ‘ _I need you to fill the void’._ Eddie plays this track over again his first time through, just to get another listen, to hold on a little longer. It is the most Richie song he has ever heard, and perhaps the greatest, too.

The second track is incredibly… soft. It is out of character. Eddie wonders how Richie must have felt when he arranged it on this mixtape. It is a dreamy song… peaceful, each strum of the guitar breathing a new experience of first loves. During his listen, Eddie nearly chokes at the lyrics ‘ _I was a deadbeat, you were so sweet… Like honey’_. Eddie tries not to blush, but his whole entire body heats up, like he’s on _fire._ Trapped in a state like this, Eddie forgets all about his mother, all about the fight they had minutes ago, because right now none of that matters. All Eddie wants to do is see Richie, and kiss Richie, and—

The door to his room swings open. Eddie only opens his eyes due to the intensity of the abrupt entrance; the door to his bedroom slammed right into the wooden frame of his bed. Annoyed, Eddie sits up and rips out his headphones, his face scrunching up at the sight of his mother.

“What are you—“ Eddie starts, but his mother cuts him off.

“No,” Sonia says, tone stern. “I cannot believe your behavior downstairs.” It must have happened ten minutes ago, Eddie thinks. He runs a hand through his hair and listens to his mother, but oddly does not feel panicked whatsoever. “You are not—you,” she lets out a deep sigh, “Eddie, you are not a homosexual.”

Eddie stares at her. He does not have a witty remark. He opens and closes his mouth. There is no reply for that. He is. That’s all there is to it.

“You are not,” she repeats as if Eddie didn’t hear her the first time. “You just aren’t. If you were—well, if you were.” Nothing. “Your father would be so disappointed if you were. Not to mention how ashamed. This family would be—” she has nothing else to say.

(so you’re going the guilt tripping route?)

“Dad’s dead,” Eddie states. “He has been since I was five, so bringing him up is pretty pointless.”

“Edward,” Sonia says, both with shock and disgust. “You cannot be a homosexual. That is the one thing you cannot be.” Eddie wants to laugh.

“The one thing I can’t be?” he asks. “Now you’re just telling lies. You’ve never let me do anything. You don’t like my friends. You don’t think I do well enough in school. You make me notify you about my every move. And now you’re telling me that the _one thing_ you won’t let me do is be gay?”

“You shouldn’t talk to your mother like this.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to your _child_ like this!”

Dead silence. The only look Sonia wears now is one of incredible disturbance.

“I’m gay, Mom,” Eddie says, and it feels _so_ fucking good to say it out loud. Like he’s exhaling, finally catching his breath. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. You don’t have to, because it’s my life, not yours. And honestly, who I date has nothing to do with you at all. So it shouldn’t even be of your concern.” Sonia is blank faced, and Eddie just wants to get back to his music. “Can you shut my door on your way out?” Eddie asks. “Please?” It seems like forever until Sonia nods slowly, and turns around sluggishly, tugging Eddie’s door shut behind her. That is the first time Eddie’s sexuality is discussed, and he hopes it is the last. He stops thinking about his mother.

Third track, finally. Eddie puts his headphones in and drowns out the world. It has become magnificently easy to do so. The song starts with a low hum, and then a gentle voice, a familiar one, definitely an artist of Richie’s favorites. Eddie recognizes the sound from previous playlists. From what Eddie can tell, this song is about holding on, even when it begins to get difficult. To give life your all, even when you’re not up for it. _Richie._

_‘I won’t lie, it’s taken so long to feel okay.’_

(Richie)

_‘But we'll be alright 'cause it's all we know.’_

(us)

_‘Sometimes it takes times like these to know you're in the right place.’_

(me? or you?)

(I need to hear him sing this)

Eddie loves this song. Richie dedicates so much time and work into music, Eddie truly hopes one day his passion is rewarded. Whether that be through a record deal, or becoming part of a real band, Eddie doesn’t know, he just knows that he wants to come along for the ride. Wherever Richie goes, Eddie will follow. Just thinking all this embarrasses Eddie.

(I really love him)

(and I want to tell him)

(really really bad)

When the third song ends, the fourth starts with a contrasting sound. The verse is strong, powerful, different than the other songs that have played, more electronic, suave. The chorus of the track: _‘Feel you get closer now, closer than you’ve been’_. With sweaty palms, Eddie digs his ear buds further into his ears, as if in an attempt to listen to the music even louder than it is already blaring. _‘But I need you in my arms, my eyes, my soul, my sunlit skies’_. Imagining Richie’s arms around him, his lips on his neck, Eddie feels the ghost of Richie’s breath. Eddie melts, as he so often does.

The final track, the fifth song is… different. The same singer as the third track, sure, similar sound, okay, but this is levels different. More personal, vulnerable, and the vibe reminds Eddie so much of something Richie would write, even perform at Patsy’s. ‘ _And I know I've been closing myself off, unsure I know I've been real hard to reach, harder to love And I know it's tiring, this shit is getting old’._ The entire first verse speaks for itself, speaks for Richie, without him even saying anything. The way he does that will never not amaze Eddie. _‘But please, just hold on to me I've slayed these demons, they're old to me’._

(I’ll never stop holding onto you, Richie)

(nothing will ever take you from me)

(unless that’s what you want)

(but neither of us wants that… right?)

 _‘These fears in my head, dreams in my bed. They won't get the best of me’_.

(he’s so strong)

(isn’t he?)

(how is he this strong?)

(I love him so much)

…

Weeks pass. It is the middle of April, and Richie and Eddie kiss sometimes. They have yet to discuss the label of their relationship, but since Richie told Eddie he considers Eddie his boyfriend, Eddie has decided to consider Richie his boyfriend, too. Since Eddie is out to his mom and all. It’s easier now. Sonia does not speak to Eddie so much, but he oddly prefers it that way. At least when they are not speaking she is not breathing down his neck, either. Richie has yet to come over to Eddie’s place since Eddie’s coming out. Eddie is too nervous Sonia will kick Richie out, or say something rude, and Richie won’t be able to bite his tongue, not that Sonia deserves any sort of respect from either boy. It’s easier to go to Richie’s house when they hang out, because Linda accepts their relationship even if it has gone unsaid.

So Richie and Eddie are at Richie’s house. It is a Wednesday afternoon, school ended fifteen minutes ago, and Richie is taking a break from his studies. He even asked Linda if it was okay for Eddie to come over, because Eddie hadn’t been over in a while since Richie’s been making up all his lost work. As they enter Richie’s bedroom, Eddie makes note of everything. Richie has unpacked more, but not much. With an aching chest, Eddie just wishes he would. Because if Richie unpacked, that would mean he’s here to stay, that nothing will take him away, not anything.

“Who’s home?” Eddie asks as Richie shuts the door to his bedroom. Richie has been unusually happy the whole day. Especially when he invited Eddie over during lunch.

“Just Linda, I think,” Richie answers. “Asking to see how much noise we can make?” he asks cheekily, and Eddie snorts. “She’s watching TV downstairs. Be as loud as you want, Spaghetti,” Richie says as he approaches Eddie, teasing. Suddenly he snatches Eddie up in his arms. Eddie lets out something of a laugh and hugs Richie back. “I could live in your arms, ya know?” Richie mumbles, his head dug into Eddie’s shoulder. “And you smell so good. I could just eat you up. A plate of my favorite Spaghetti.”

“Mhmm,” Eddie mumbles, feeling Richie’s hands come up and down his sides, rubbing. Eddie is planning on telling Richie about Kai today; the situation has been in the back of Eddie’s mind since listening to ‘ **3’** weeks ago. Since Richie came clean and shared music so personal, Eddie feels it’s only fair he does the same, and that Mike is right, it’s best Richie hears it from Eddie than from some nobody on the street. “Richie,” Eddie says. Richie’s hands freeze at Eddie’s sides, and he pulls his head back to search Eddie’s face.

“What?” Richie asks. “Sorry. I’ll keep it PG.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Eddie says with a light chuckle.

(just tell him)

(just _say it_ )

(…)

(but he’s in such a good mood…)

“How are you?” Eddie asks, pushing one of Richie’s wild curls out of his face.

“Pretty okay. How are you?” Richie asks with a grin. His hands are back to nipping at Eddie’s shirt.

“Good,” Eddie answers. Richie seems excited, now that Eddie is thinking about it. But he makes no comment. “Glad you’re okay.”

“With you I’m the most okay,” Richie replies. “Been doing good lately, actually. Lots of good days. I’ve only missed one or two days of school I think? Not more weeks, thank God. That would only be more work to make up.”

“Is there a lot left?”

“A good sum. Not so bad though, not with my genius.”

“Ha, ha.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, what’s up? You seem awfully giddy.”

“ _Eddie,_ ” Richie whines, grabbing Eddie’s hands and squeezing them real tight. There is sweat budding across Eddie’s palms not at the contact, but at the excitement of Richie’s voice. What is going on? “ _Eds,_ my love, my spaghetti,” Richie continues on.

“Cut to the point, Rich!” Eddie giggles. “I wanna _know._ ”

“They’re gonna adopt me,” Richie says, his smile growing. Eddie can feel Richie shaking. “They really want me, Eds. Linda said that’s why she’s been quiet. She wanted to surprise me! Can you believe that, baby? I get to stay here and spend the rest of my life with these guys.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and his chest is full with pride.

“Oh my god,” Eddie breathes. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, Rich! Oh my god. This is so great.” Throwing his arms back around Eddie, Richie scoops Eddie up off the ground and into his arms, cradling him and peppering kisses into the crook of his neck, head sleeping on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s torso and tries not to squeal as Richie pulls them around in circles, dizzying the both of them but causing giggles to erupt from both of their throats. “I’m so happy, Richie. This is the best news ever.” As Richie pulls them to a stop, he reveals his reddened face from Eddie’s neck and Eddie kisses him flat on the lips, once. “This,” kiss, “Is,” kiss, “Fantastic.”

“I’m so happy, Eds,” Richie says, and that statement alone is music to Eddie’s ears. That is the best and most important thing. “I really can’t believe it. Linda and Rob _want_ me.”

“Of course they want you,” Eddie says as Richie places him back on the ground softly. “Anybody would be lucky to have you. They’re trying to snatch you up before anyone else does.”

“Is that what you’re doing, too?” Richie purrs, leaning in for another kiss. “Because let me tell you, you have nothing to worry about. Consider me snatched up.” This kiss is full tongue and clumsy chatter of teeth. Eddie sputters a laugh. “We’re kissing so messy. I’m too jumpy to kiss right, just wanna hold you.”

“So hold me,” Eddie complies, pulling back and lifting his arms. And Richie holds him, with tight arms, a loving embrace. It is a hug of _comfort_ , of _Richie is here to stay_ , and of _I am so incredibly in love with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry class  
> this story might be /27 instead, hav to sort out some things. hope this update isnt too shabby im trying my hardest here and unfortunately its not showing but its whatever! thanks for reading lov u all


	24. Chapter 24

The first week of May, Richie misses school. Eddie walks into Math class, a bright smile on his face, a new sweater plush against his torso, and Richie’s seat is empty. He does not immediately realize something is wrong, because maybe Richie is just late, or maybe he’s talking with a teacher. But as the class begins and Richie does not enter, Eddie knows he is not coming. He does not swing by the big brown house after school. He does not do anything, because perhaps Richie just missed one day. It happens here and there, it is nothing out of the ordinary. The second day Richie misses school, Eddie calls the number Stephanie gave him. Linda answers with a polite, “Hello?”

“Hi, Linda. It’s Eddie,” Eddie says, cradling the phone. He feels a little foolish for calling, but he wants Richie to know he’s thinking of him.

“Oh. Hello, Eddie.” Eddie thinks he can hear the smile on her face. “Would you like me to get Richie?”

“If he wants, yeah,” Eddie says, biting his lip. “If not that’s okay, too. Just tell him I’m thinking of him?”

A pause. “Of course, dear,” she says. “I’ll go see if he’s up for it.” The phone is silent for a few minutes, and when Linda comes Eddie strangely does not feel sad. “Sorry. He’s still in bed. I don’t think he slept very much last night.”

_I’m up with the sun, anxious but thinking of you._

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “Will you tell him I called, please?”

“Of course. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“Thanks, bye.”

That is the only time Eddie calls. He does not want to be overbearing. Not seeing Richie is hard, but knowing about his depression and his family situation somehow makes it easier for Eddie to understand. The next week Richie is back at school, bubbly like he never left. When Eddie sees him in Math, his heart warms and he wants to kiss him. Richie smiles at Eddie immediately. And though class is a minute away from starting, Richie goes over to meet Eddie at his desk. Eddie plops his backpack down into his seat and forces his arms to stay by his side. Their classmates are all around them, gossiping, groaning about school, and it is no doubt they have got the attention of at least a few people.

“Hey,” Eddie says quietly, not wanting anybody to hear. “How are you?”

“Mighty fine,” Richie replies. “How are _you?_ ”

“I’m good—“

“Richie, Eddie, take your seats, class is starting,” the teacher butts in. Smiling sheepishly, Eddie pushes his bag off his chair and sends Richie a look that says _later_. Richie returns to his seat as Eddie sits down. Class starts, and it seems to take decades to finish. As soon as the bell rings, Eddie throws his notebook into his backpack and turns around to face Richie, desperate to see him, desperate to feel him. Richie is right there, slipping his backpack over his shoulder and approaching Eddie.

“Come on,” is what Richie says, and he takes Eddie’s hand without a care, leading them both out of the classroom and to the boys’ bathroom at the end of the hallway. When they reach the bathroom, they both check the stalls and are glad nobody is in there. Richie locks the bathroom door, like that time before, and as soon as he turns around Eddie takes him into a big hug. “Oof,” Richie breathes, wrapping his long arms around Eddie’s torso. “I missed you, too, Spaghetti.”

“I missed you so much,” Eddie states, kissing Richie’s clothed chest. Then he pulls his head out of Richie’s chest and leans up to kiss him deeply, lovingly. “I missed that, too,” Eddie says with a light laugh, caressing Richie’s cheeks. “How are you, really?”

“Am fine, really,” Richie says easily. “Not lying, I swear.”

“Okay.” They kiss again. “I called for you.”

“I know.” Richie rubs their noses together, inhaling deeply. “Linda told me. Thanks, baby.” Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to that nickname. “What’re you doing after school?”

“I think the real question is what are _you_ doing after school. Are you almost caught up with all the work you missed?”

“Almost.” Richie shrugs. “But now I have to make up this past week’s worth. It’ll be okay. It’s looking like I’ll move up a grade. Nothing to worry about, Spaghetti.” Petting down Eddie’s hair, Eddie purses his lips. “Your hair is so long now.”

“Kinda wanna get it cut,” Eddie admits. It is too long; it gets in his eyes and bothers him most days.

“You’ll look cute either way,” Richie says. He presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Do what you want with it.” There is a brief pause of just gazing at each other. Eddie thinks this is a good time to confess, say the three words that have been dancing on his tongue consciously, but then Richie continues talking. “What time does your mom come home today?” he asks. “Can I come over?”

“I think she has errands to run, so… probably.”

“So…?” Richie grins.

Eddie lets out an overdramatic sigh. “Richie, would you like to come over to my house?”

“To do _what?_ ” Richie asks smugly. As if he doesn’t know.

“To make out and stuff.”

“Oh.” Raising his eyebrows, Richie’s mouth forms a firm ‘O’ shape. “And _stuff._ ”

“Can it,” Eddie says, biting back a smile.

…

Sonia Kaspbrak is not home. Richie and Eddie are. Eddie sits on his bed, watching Richie as he goes around Eddie’s bedroom like he has never visited before. There is a certain look on his face, one Eddie cannot recognize, as he takes his finger and traces it over every single one of Eddie’s belongings. All three of the mixes Richie made for Eddie sit on Eddie’s desk, lined up all pretty. When Richie reaches them a smile is pushed to his lips. He goes through the three of them, inspecting the casing and the inscriptions, grinning like he is recalling a good memory. As he inspects the most recent mix: 3, he turns to Eddie and says, “You never told me. What do you think?”

“I told you I loved it,” Eddie states, leaning against his bedroom wall as he sits cross-legged on his bed. “I like the song that goes… something about filling a void, can’t remember the lyrics now… and the last one.”

Richie puts the cassettes back into their rightful spot. Then his eyes fall to the book Ben has lent Eddie, the one focusing on depressive disorders and their function and symptoms. Ever so slowly, Richie picks the book up and eyes the simple cover of block text. Eddie still cannot read the look on his face. As Richie skims the back of the book, his expression turns less of what it was, and more amused.

“You studying me like I’m a project or something?” he asks. His tone is joking, but Eddie grows nervous. Is that what it looks like? Is that what he’s doing?

“No,” Eddie replies carefully. “Of course not.” Richie seems to sense his discomfort and throws out a chuckle.

“Calm down. It was just a joke,” Richie says, but Eddie can’t help but feel like it’s not. “If you wanted to know something you could just ask me. It’s probably easier that way, too.”

“I didn’t know I could,” Eddie says, embarrassed. He sits on his hands, not wanting to fidget with them as a distraction. “You never told me I could.”

“Well, here is me saying it’s okay.” Richie’s smile is so gentle, the gentlest Eddie has ever seen. Eddie wonders how long it took Richie to be comfortable like this, in his skin and in talking about difficult topics. Perhaps it is a new thing. “Ask away.”

“I read that it can be genetic, but that it isn’t always,” Eddie states, hoping he does not have to actually _expand_ on his question. Richie stares at Eddie, thinking, then he puts the book down on Eddie’s desk and goes over to sit next to him on the bed. His eyes stay glued to the floor. “You really don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering.”

“It is genetic,” Richie admits. “For me, at least. My mom has depression. Like, my birth mom.” This is the first mention of Richie’s birth mother, and Eddie feels his heart tighten. “I remember she used to sleep all day, and she never really did much. Didn’t work. Didn’t cook. Just slept.” Nodding, Richie takes his bottom lip into his mouth. It seems as though remembering this is difficult, and Eddie almost says _that’s enough_. But Richie shifts closer to Eddie and furrows his brows. “I used to just watch her spiral, get worse. And then I was diagnosed when I was like, twelve, maybe, and I thought I would be just like her.”

 _Are you?_ Eddie wants to ask. He doesn’t.

“It’s weird to think about now. Because I’m not anything like her. I never will be.” Richie is still staring intently at the floor of Eddie’s bedroom. There are a few minutes of silence, a few minutes of Eddie not knowing what to do or say, and then Richie confesses: “She used to drink. Like a _lot_. All the time, Eds.” For the first time since Richie started talking about his mother, he meets Eddie’s eye contact. “She loved her alcohol more than she loved me. That’s so shitty. She really deserves the worst fucking mom award.” Eddie realizes Richie has gone on and on about his mother, but has yet to mention his father. Is his father somehow worse? Was his father even in his life?

“Wait,” Eddie says. “So that time the guy in the car threw a bottle near us, and at the party—“

“Alcohol isn’t a friend to me,” Richie says, his face puckered in disgust. “It never has been and it never will be.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says before he can stop himself. Richie smiles sadly.

“Remember that thing I said about pity?”

(he doesn’t like it when I feel bad for him)

(ugh)

“I know. Sorry I’m sorry.” Smiling meekly, Eddie reaches out and takes Richie’s hand. He leans closer, turning his body so it intertwines with Richie’s, so his lips are ghosting Richie’s neck and he can feel Richie’s body trembling. Eddie presses a sweet kiss to the crook of Richie’s neck. There are freckles there, an ensemble drawn across Richie’s neck. Ones Eddie has never noticed before. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re the pretty one,” Richie murmurs. For once he is the one who is putty. Eddie could get used to this. “You make me so happy,” comes Richie’s gentle whisper. Eddie freezes, stops kissing Richie’s neck, and glances up at him instead. Richie is staring down at Eddie, confused.

“I like when you’re happy,” is all Eddie can manage. “Are you happy a lot?”

“More so recently,” Richie says. He lets out a quick sigh. “But even when I’m happy, and I am happy… a part of me always seems to be sad.” And while he is clothed, hidden beneath layers of a flannel, Hawaiian shirt, and a thick sweater, Richie Tozier has never seemed so bare. He twiddles one of Eddie’s curls, staring at Eddie with that look he always gives. Eddie wishes he could do more.

“I wish I could make you happy enough not to be sad.” Eddie’s words are a quiet confession. He whispers it into the coming night, into the lines of Richie’s palm. Open mouth on Richie’s hand, Eddie presses one honeyed kiss to each of Richie’s fingers.

“Eds,” Richie says, and oh, how Eddie loves the sound of his name leaving Richie’s mouth. “You make me so happy.” Richie presses a hand to Eddie’s cheek.

(kiss me again?)

Suddenly they are flush, body-to-body, like Eddie once wished they would be. There is an unspoken intimacy among them. Lying next to each other, feet tangled and breath mingling, Eddie wonders if this is what it is like to truly love someone, a first love and a last. He kisses Richie softly, passionately, just wanting to be close. Eddie has never felt like this before, and he wants nothing to ever change. He wants to be with Richie until Richie is done with him, though he hopes that time never comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cant be bothered to proofread this sorry


	25. Chapter 25

School is almost over, and Eddie is happy. It has been a long school year, so much has happened and Eddie is ready just to live in the summer weather. On the last day of school, Eddie and Richie decide to meet up with their friends outside. But before they leave for the school exit (and Eddie is aching to), Richie turns to Eddie and says, "I made up all my work, so we’ll spend our senior year together.” And Eddie is so proud and relieved and in love that he has to fight the urge to kiss Richie right there.

“I’m so proud of you, Rich,” Eddie says, gazing up at him. _I love you,_ he wants to say. _I love you,_ he doesn’t say. “Like seriously so proud.”

“Proud enough to lay a smooch on me right here?” Richie teases, leaning a bit closer. Eddie sinks back self consciously, looking at their surroundings. Still too many people, too many risks.

“At Bill’s house,” Eddie says. “As many as you want.”

“ _Oooh,”_ Richie sings. “As many as I want? What if I want infinity?”

“Infinity kisses?” Eddie asks. “Our lips would go numb.”

“But it’d be worth it, for sure,” Richie says, then he takes Eddie’s hand and begins to walk toward the exit of the school. “Let’s go dump our school books in the trash outside.” As they head outside, Eddie doesn’t think about the looks he knows his classmates are giving him and Richie. Eddie and Richie have the whole summer to hold hands, to kiss, to fall deeper in love with each other. “Hey guys,” Richie says to all the losers. They’re standing near the trashcan, and Richie opens up his bag hurriedly, throwing all its contents into the bin.

“Hey, Rich,” Beverly says. “I just emptied mine a second ago, too.”

“M-Me too,” Bill agrees.

“I like to hang onto my stuff,” Ben admits.

“Want me to toss your stuff, too?” Richie asks Eddie. Shrugging his backpack off his shoulder, Eddie hands it over to Richie in one swift movement. He watches as Richie dumps all Eddie’s hard work into the trashcan. Once he’s done, Richie hands Eddie’s bag back to him, their hands brushing briefly. “We off to Billy’s?”

“Yeah,” Stan says, and Richie smiles at him dearly. He slings an arm around Stan’s shoulders and they start walking off in the direction of Bill’s house. Rolling his eyes, Eddie follows them and pulls the other losers along with him. Once they’re all at Bill’s house, they turn on a movie and relax on the couch and across the floor of Bill’s living room. Georgie and his parents are upstairs in their rooms, so the teenagers try not to make _that_ much noise, but it’s awfully difficult when they can’t help but laugh and grin around each other.

But the afternoon passes quickly, and before Eddie knows it, it’s starting to get darker outside. Richie is still sitting on the couch with Stan, unbothered. Maybe he hasn’t realized the time, Eddie thinks. For some reason, Eddie wants to go outside and watch the sky change, so he does. He slips out the backdoor to Bill’s backyard without telling anybody, and stands outside in only his sweatshirt, shivering, watching the sky. It isn’t until he hears the door clang that his gaze is torn away.

“Why aren’t you inside?” comes Richie’s thick voice. Eddie can hear Richie’s teeth chattering, though he wears his large jacket and has a lit cigarette resting in the corner of his mouth. Gazing at Richie, Eddie just wants to kiss him, to breath affection across his lips and pucker a confession into the back of his mouth. “Everything okay?” Richie asks at Eddie’s silence. Eddie nods, and crosses his arms to make himself warmer. All he wears is a thin sweater. He hadn’t expected the early night to get so chilly. It has only just gotten dark, so he expects Richie will be leaving soon.

“Just needed to get away for a second,” Eddie explains. “Fresh air.”

“Okay,” Richie says, and he comes up to stand next to Eddie. Without another word, Richie shrugs off his jacket and puts it around Eddie’s shoulders, kissing the side of Eddie’s head in doing so. “You’re shivering.” Eddie’s hands ghost the sleeves of Richie’s jean jacket. It smells just like him. Eddie wants to live in this scent: cologne and cigarettes, an oddly attractive mix. In the silence, Richie raises his hand to put on Eddie’s cheek. They are in Bill’s backyard, nothing but the moon above them to serve as a witness.

“Shouldn’t you be going just about now?” Eddie asks quietly, anxious under Richie’s gaze.

“I just wanna stand with you for a little while. My head isn’t so chaotic when I’m with you.”

(is that why you don’t like the night?)

(you’re too in your head?)

Inevitably, Eddie’s gaze follows the trail of cigarette burns dancing down Richie’s wrist. And as the scars go on, Eddie sees the big circle on Richie’s arm, the one nearing the top, toward his shoulder, the one most likely born by dragging a cigarette across clean skin. Then Eddie remembers the scar on Richie’s neck. He says nothing, but his look must say enough, because Richie purses his lips and sighs lightly.

“My parents were bad people,” Richie says, simplest as he can manage, voice just below a whisper. “They used to, uh,” he takes his hand off Eddie’s cheek and uses that hand to mime putting a cigarette out on his opposite arm’s wrist, “Put their cigarettes out on me?” He stops gesturing and turns away from Eddie. He slowly sits down in the grass and keeps his head glued to the ground. Eddie sits down next to him, a gentle hand on Richie’s shoulder. No words. “When I was really young I couldn’t tell if they did it on purpose or if they just got my pale complexion confused with the white ash tray that used to sit on the dining room table.” Richie lets out a faint chuckle. “I have a lot of these suckers. On my ankles and legs… and then this one,” He gestures to the large circle that Eddie was examining previously, “This one hurt like a bitch. That’s when I finally stopped tricking myself into thinking they were an accident. My dad was too focused taking his cigarette and dragging it into my skin for it to have been an accident.” Finally he looks at Eddie, gaze heavy, old memories catching up to him. “I remember on my birthday last year, my dad thought I stole his booze. So he put a knife to the back of my neck.”

(your scar)

(the thin line)

The thin scar was born at the fingertip of a blade, held by his own father. Eddie feels sick. So this is why Richie never mentioned his father before, when he was telling Eddie about his mother. Because while his mother was bad, neglectful, his father was still somehow worse.

“Isn’t that fucked up, Eddie? My own dad?” Richie asks.

“It is fucked up,” Eddie agrees. He doesn’t know what else to say but, “You deserve better.”

“Now I have you,” Richie states. “You are better.”

( _you are better_ )

“And my mom used to just watch when my dad would beat the shit out of me… always wondered why she didn’t try to stop him.” Richie shrugs. Eddie’s heart breaks. “I think she was too drunk to try.”

(too drunk to be a parent)

(I’m so sorry)

“And now I’m rambling, sorry, Spaghetti,” Richie says with another chuckle. He leans onto Eddie’s shoulder, trusting Eddie to support his body upright. He has never done that before, Eddie notes.

“I like when you ramble,” Eddie replies. “It’s okay.”

“It’s pretty dark,” Richie says blandly. “Haven’t been out for real in the dark for a while. Shield your eyes, Eds. I can feel my claws coming in.” Eddie scoffs. “Just kidding. Unless you’re into that freaky werewolf shit, then it’s totally for real.”

“Shut it,” Eddie says with a soft laugh. “Would you tell me why? If I asked?”

“Ask,” Richie says. “I’ll tell you.”

“Why don’t you go outside at night? Are you really just afraid?”

(I’ve wondered for so long)

“I get in a mood, and… don’t really feel like myself at all,” Richie admits. He is avoiding eye contact, but that is okay. Honesty is something Eddie has learned to be really grateful for. If Richie can’t look him in the eyes then so be it. “It’s like… when I’m absent for a long time, but somehow worse, and it _really_ feels like it’ll last forever even though it only lasts until the sun comes up. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but, that’s why.” Then he meets Eddie’s eyes, his head turned and tilted slightly to the side. They are so close. Close enough for a kiss. Close enough to bare an infinite amount of secrets. “I don’t really like people to see me like that. Especially you. I always just want to be alone.”

(maybe one day I can be alone with you)

(if that’s something you’re okay with)

“I’m all messed up,” Richie says suddenly. And there are few tears forming in his eyes, but his face scrunches up and he scoffs. Silence settles between Richie and Eddie like an old friend. Then, in one heartbreaking sentence from Richie, Eddie understands, “At night he used to come home from work.”

“Richie,” breathes Eddie. He grabs Richie’s hand and kisses his palm. Close-mouthed and loving. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Okay,” Richie says, and reaching a hand out toward him, Eddie wipes the tears threatening to fall off of Richie’s cheeks. “Thanks.”

_I love you._

“Want me to walk you home?” Eddie offers.

“Would you?” Richie replies meekly, so out of character.

“Of course.” _I love you._ “Let’s go.”


	26. Chapter 26

Summer is the best time, Eddie has always known. But it is even better with a lover. Without the stress of school and the fear of Linda and Rob sending him away, Richie is improving. That is easy for anyone to see. Richie and Eddie spend a lot of time with the other losers, and soon enough it is the first day of July. Eddie does not remember a time he has been so carefree, so happy, and he knows Richie feels it, too. He has yet to tell Richie about Kai, because things are too perfect, but deep down inside Eddie knows the longer he waits to tell Richie about Kai, the worse the outcome. Eddie doesn’t exactly know what he’s expecting, but he just has a tight feeling in his stomach.

Richie smiles at Eddie, breaking him out of his thoughts and grounding him with a simple, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing,” says Eddie, reaching out and playing with Richie’s hand as they lie on Richie’s bed. They’ve just been hanging out, joking around.

“Let’s bake a cake,” Richie states randomly.

“What?” Eddie asks, confused.

“A cake. Let’s bake one. We’ve been sitting here all day but I wanna get moving.”

“It’s almost three in the afternoon. We really have to get up now?” Eddie whines, too comfortable. He pouts at Richie, who just leans over and kisses him.

“You look so cute,” Richie says, then he pulls his hand from Eddie and stands up without announcement. “Well if you need me I’ll be downstairs…” Pausing for dramatic effect, Richie seems a bit offended that he has not caused a ruse from Eddie at all. “All alone…” Richie adds, but Eddie only giggles at his boyfriend’s comedic actions. Richie sighs heavily, throwing his arms down by his sides. “Gosh, Spaghetti, will you _please_ bake a cake with me?”

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie teases.

“Are you _listening?_ A freaking cake! That’s what’s in it for you!” Richie is loud and happy, and looking at him like this, all Eddie can do is stand up and agree. “You’re the best,” Richie says, pulling Eddie close to him to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’re gonna have so much fun. It’ll be the best cake ever, huh?”

“I bet,” Eddie replies. “Do you even have stuff for a cake?”

“Maybe. Junie likes to cook sometimes,” Richie states, and they walk downstairs hand in hand. Linda is in the living room, which is in the next room over, so they are not within her view. Opening the fridge door, Richie whistles a low tune before turning to Eddie and saying, “Supermarket run?” It seems silly; all this for a cake Eddie doesn’t even want? But the cake is for a boy Eddie _definitely_ wants, so…

“Whatever it takes,” Eddie says.

“You’re the best,” Richie says again. “Let’s borrow Linda’s car.”

“You can drive?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow.

“Enough,” is all Richie says. “Linda!” he calls out, walking over to the living room. Eddie follows him as he rolls his eyes. Linda looks at the two boys and smiles.

“What is it, Richie?” she asks.

“Can I borrow the car?” Richie asks with a gentle smile. “Rob’s been letting me drive practice lately. And I did fine on the test.”

(he’s been teaching you?)

“Sure,” Linda says. “The keys are on the dining room table. Where are you boys headed?”

“Just to the market,” Richie says simply. “Me and Eds are gonna bake a cake!”

“Have fun,” Linda says, waving goodbye. Eddie wants to say goodbye, but his hand is yanked back by Richie. He hears Linda’s laugh echo in the background. Grabbing the keys off the table, Richie uses his hand intertwined with Eddie’s to pull Eddie close once again. He presses the softest kiss to Eddie’s lips, and Eddie can only smile. Seeing Richie in such a giddy mood lately has made Eddie exceptionally happy. Richie deserves only the best, and for once he is finally getting just that.

In the car, Eddie realizes this is a mistake. Richie can drive _enough?_ Richie can drive _just barely._ As he slams his foot on the gas, Eddie wonders just what it was Richie was practicing with Rob, because it sure as hell wasn’t how to stay alive on the road. Richie reaches to turn on the radio, but Eddie stops him with a quick hand, “No fucking way,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Focus on the road. I don’t want to fucking die.”

Richie barks out a laugh, but the rest of the drive is short and quiet. When he pulls into the local supermarket parking lot, Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and unbuckles his seatbelt. Richie gets out of the car, and Eddie does too, only to have his gaze stolen by a familiar looking car. It is a light silver, a bit modern looking, and it brings back terrible memories. As Eddie’s eyes widen, he realizes who owned a similar car.

( _Eddie watches as Kai waves from where he stands, leaning against his smooth, silver car._ )

(there’s no way)

“You okay?” comes Richie’s voice, grounding Eddie. Eddie looks at Richie, who must have looked behind him during his mini-freakout.

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie stutters, turning away from the silver car. “Let’s go.” They head inside and Richie immediately leads them to the boxed cake section. Neither boy says much; Eddie is still shaken up by seeing that car and maybe Richie noticed something was off.

“This one okay?” Richie asks, crouched down, holding a box of confetti cake mix in his hand.

“Yeah. Whatever’s fine,” Eddie says, and he hates that he’s making this not fun. It was supposed to be a fun trip with his boyfriend, a fun baking experience with his boyfriend, a fun _day_ with his boyfriend! And yet here Eddie is, worried about someone who he hasn’t seen in over a year. How pathetic.

“We can just head to checkout—“ Richie is cut off due to someone who seemingly hit him on accident while Richie was in his crouched position. “Fuck!” Richie curses, toppling over. Eddie’s eyes dart from Richie on the ground and to the stranger that knocked him over.

“Shit, man, I’m so sorry, I tripped last minute,” the stranger says.

“No worries,” Richie replies, standing up tall and stretching out his limbs. And then it seems to hit Eddie all at once.

The man’s hair is grown out, and there is fresh stubble to his face, shaping him into an attractive young man. Perhaps he is a bit taller than the last time Eddie saw him, college doing him well. It is shameful and embarrassing, how Eddie feels right now, because at the sight of Kai, Eddie’s heart somehow still swells.

Kai turns to look at Eddie, only just now noticing the presence of a person standing behind him. And Eddie wants to cry, cry, cry. He thinks he feels tears forming in his eyes, and then the pressure of Richie’s hand coming up his shoulder, and Eddie can barely hear Richie when he asks, “Everything okay?” because in a space so quiet everything is somehow so _loud._ Eddie cant tear his eyes off Kai, can’t answer Richie; he feels utterly hopeless, powerless, and that is how Kai always wanted him to feel.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Kai finally says, and Eddie hates the way he says his name. Like he did not spend all of Eddie’s sophomore year torturing him; he says it like they are old friends, like they need to stop a few seconds to catch up. Silently, Eddie clenches his jaw.

“You know him, Eds?” Richie asks, his gaze switching between Eddie and Kai and Eddie and Kai. Eddie feels so sick. “Who are you?” Richie asks Kai, not able to get an answer from Eddie.

(I don’t want to hear him say his name)

(please don’t say it)

(just call us fags and leave)

“I’m Kai,” he answers warily, his eyes slightly squinted. “Who’re you? Eddie’s new boyfriend?”

Richie remembers Eddie mentioning Kai in a split second. Eddie can tell because Richie suddenly stands a little taller, puffs his chest out slightly, and moves so that he’s covering part of Eddie, shielding him. Eddie would be flattered if he were not so terrified.

“Yeah, I am,” Richie says, no fear. “What’s it to ya?”

“What’s it to me?” Kai chuckles. “Well if you’re if his boyfriend shouldn’t you _know_ what it is to me? Hasn’t little Eddie spoken about me? Or did he try to keep it a secret while I was away at college?” Shrinking back, Eddie wonders if he could take Richie’s hand and make a run for it. It would be pretty easy… “I’m surprised nobody’s talking about it anymore. It was the talk of the school for a whole four months.”

“I recognize your name,” is all Richie says, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. If he were in Richie’s position, he wouldn’t know what to say either.

“Then you must know _everything._ Didn’t you tell your new boyfriend _everything_ , Eddie?” Kai is looking at Eddie now, and Eddie wants to shrivel up so badly it aches. “Or did you not want him to know? Do you want _me_ to tell him?”

(please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t)

Richie goes to cut Kai off, but Kai keeps talking: “In Eddie’s sophomore year of high school, I was a senior, and my friends would always tease me about how the queer kid has a crush on me. I thought they were just messing with me, you know? Until Greta Keene told me they were right, that Eddie Kaspbrak’s a little queer boy.”

(stop talking please just stop talking)

“So we fucked with him a lot.” Kai shrugs a shoulder as if it’s not a big deal, as if it did not ruin Eddie’s life and shatter any bit of confidence he may have had.

( _“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Kai says. Eddie thinks he means it._ )

“We made him think I was a fag, too, flirting with him and shit. Until Eddie tried to kiss me.” Kai must pause because he can see Eddie cowering, _quivering._

(this is the worst part)

(please just _don’t_ )

( _“You’re an ugly fag,” Kai says, his words like venom. “Stay away from me.”_ )

( _“You’re nothing,” Kai spits. “You’re nobody.”_ )

“Then the whole school found out… but I guess it’s not so bad anymore, Eddie, right? You have a new little queer friend to keep you company.” Kai smiles sinisterly.

“You’re a real fucking asshole,” Richie says. He looks heavily disturbed, and Eddie is embarrassed. “Why are you smiling like you’re proud of your piece of shit actions? You better get out of my fucking face before I sock you so hard in the mouth your teeth fall out.” But Kai is nobody to step down from a fight, so he only takes a step closer to Richie, mirroring Richie’s stance. Eddie does not want them to fight, as much as Kai deserves it, because they are in public, and Kai is so very much more buff.

“What did you just say?” Kai says.

“I think you heard me, jackass,” Richie replies.

“Gentlemen, it’s been requested I ask you to leave,” a supermarket employee steps in, and Eddie exhales deeply, not even aware he had been holding his breath under all this anxiety. “So?” Stepping away from Richie, Kai never lets his gaze falter.

“I was just leaving,” he says. And then he does. And then so does the employee.

Still shaken up, Eddie has not moved from his position. He still stands there, frozen, though Richie is facing him now and holding him in his arms. It must be several minutes before Eddie is okay, recovered, and finally reaches his arms across Richie’s back to accept the hug. “It’s okay,” he hears Richie’s murmur, in tune with his surroundings once again. “He’s gone now. I’ve got you.”

(it somehow slipped my mind kai would be home from college for the summer)

(I should have been more careful)

“I’m sorry,” Eddie chokes into Richie’s chest, and now he is sobbing in the middle of the local supermarket.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s go outside, okay?” Richie suggests, because he must know Eddie feels ten times worse crying in a public setting. “I’m sure he’s driven off by now. Can we go outside?” Eddie nods his head and lets Richie lead him outside. Eddie thinks they stand near Linda’s car, with Richie leaning against it and Eddie in his arms, but Eddie cannot see anything other than the darkness of Richie’s t-shirt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Eddie says, loud enough so Richie can hear. “I know I should have. Since you opened up about Linda, and your parents, and everything—but I just _couldn’t._ He makes me feel so shitty, Richie, even remembering him, and I just—“

“It’s okay,” Richie says, holding Eddie tighter. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“B-But I _do_ ,” Eddie cries, pulling his head out from Richie’s chest. “I _do_ have to tell you b-because you’re my b-boyfriend and I t-trust you so much!” There are tears streaming down Eddie’s cheeks. Worry is plastered to Richie’s face. “A-And now I’m c-crying for no fucking r-reason! I should’ve j-just told you—“ he pauses, letting out a long sob instead.

“Stop talking, baby, just calm down.” So Eddie stops talking, just letting Richie hold him in his arms and walk him through simple breathing exercises. _Short breath in. Long breath out. Short breath in. Long breath out._ “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“Kai and Greta planned to embarrass me and out me to the whole school,” Eddie says once he’s calmed down. He watches Richie’s eyes. “I believed it. It was so s-stupid of me. And I _did_ try to kiss Kai, but he pushed me away. God… I’m such a fucking idiot.” Looking back to last year, Eddie can’t help but cringe. “After they outed me, they pulled lots of dumb shit, but… the worst was probably when Greta stole my clothes during PE, when I was showering. I cried in the locker room for thirty minutes before the coach found me and gave me some clothes from the lost and found.” There are still tears in Eddie’s eyes, but they only sleep at his lash line. He lets out a fake chuckle, because how _stupid_ can one person be? “I didn’t tell you about any of that because I was too embarrassed. I’m so fucking embarrassing it hurts.”

(there it is)

(I wish none of this had ever happened)

(I wish we were still having fun and kissing and laughing)

Richie is staring at Eddie, saying nothing. But that _look_ is in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Eddie,” he says, and everything stops, as easy as that.

(you’re in love with me?)

“I love you so fucking much.” Richie grins, pushing a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear. “Nothing could make me not love you. Not Kai, or Greta, or anything embarrassing. And that’s crazy because I’ve never loved anyone before. Not my parents or anyone. Only you.”

(I feel it too)

(he loves me)

(he really loves me)

“I’m in love with you, too,” Eddie says, and he might cry again—happy tears this time. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. I don’t remember when I started. I love you.”

“I love you.” Richie hums, dipping his head down to kiss Eddie lightly on the lips. They’re in public, sure, but they’re in _love._ Eddie wants to just _love_ Richie. “You’re my whole fricken world, Spaghetti.” Grinning widely, Eddie rests his forehead against Richie’s and breathes in his scent. Everything went to shit, but here they are, okay and in love. Then Eddie realizes the _almost_ -fight between Kai and Richie caused them to forget why they left for the supermarket in the first place.

“We didn’t even buy the cake mix,” Eddie says.

“Baby, it’s okay. It would have been a shitty cake anyway. Let’s be honest here, I’m no chef,” Richie speaks now in the gentlest of whispers, and Eddie lets out a loud laugh. Even after being upset and crying, Richie manages to make Eddie feel undeniably happy. That’s what being in love is like, Eddie thinks.


	27. Chapter 27

Richie is sitting on his bed playing his guitar, a sight Eddie has not witnessed for a long time now. It is the beginning of August, and Richie and Eddie are in love. He is singing of an ugly moon, and Eddie wants to know what it means. So he asks, with a gentle brush to Richie’s shoulder, and Richie faces Eddie with wide eyes and a crooked smile, the question of, “yes, baby?” dripping from his lips like a spot of honey into a cup of scalding hot tea.

“What is ugly moon? I’ve heard you sing about it before, when I was passing by your house,” Eddie admits, a little embarrassed on behalf of his previous eavesdropping. Richie doesn’t look bothered at all.

“Well the lyrics…” And he positions himself better. He strums the strings of his guitar and hums a hollow tune. “ _Ugly moon, well you look good from the front… lovely satellite reflecting the sun._ _I imagine time will change you soon. He’ll learn nothing from the things that you’ve done._ ” Pausing, Richie clicks his tongue and focuses on Eddie’s lingering gaze. “That verse is about back home, before I moved here. _Ugly moon…_ meaning the moon, obviously… and _I imagine time will change you soon._ I mentioned before my dad used to get home at night, when the moon was out, and he would beat the living shit out of me. Naturally, nights were the hardest.” It is easy to tell that Richie has practiced this explanation, the words familiar on his tongue and comfortable to confess. Eddie wants to hold Richie’s hand, so he does. “Night… and moon. Duh.” Richie cracks a grin. “And time will change the moon, meaning nights will become easier, and they have. And I’ll learn nothing from the pain my dad used to cause me.”

With a shrug, Richie continues: “The whole song is just about me. How I feel now. How I’m different, I guess. A lot has happened since then,” Richie says. “Some part of me used to think my parents would magically change and start loving me one day. Obviously that day never came.”

“…And how did you end up with Linda?” Eddie asks.

“My neighbors heard me screaming bloody murder one night and called the cops. About fucking time someone did.”

“I’m sorry, Rich,” Eddie says, because he can’t help but feel terrible.

“It’s okay,” Richie says. “Well, it’s _not_. But it’s okay _now._ ”

“And why did you talk to me? At school?” Eddie has always wondered. Surely there is more to this story.

“At home I was taught not to talk because there would ultimately be consequences.” Pursing his lips, Richie looks mildly uncomfortable revealing this and Eddie feels bad for asking. “When I first started meeting with my therapist, I wouldn’t talk _at all._ I would just stare at her. And she wouldn’t even try to talk to me, which I thought was fucking weird. But she was waiting for my pace, and so when I _did_ start speaking, she eventually asked if there was one person I was interested in speaking to, at school or anywhere, and there was you. The cute boy in my math class. So I tried. And look where that got me.” Richie grins and brings Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s sweet skin. “Best decision I ever made.”

…

Patsy’s. Oh Patsy’s, how Eddie has missed it.

It is Richie’s performance of _ugly moon_ today, and Eddie is not anything less than excited. All their friends are here, for support and also to watch a great set. They all talk briefly before Richie’s band is called to the stage. Eddie is shaking with excitement. Somehow it seems as though the past year has led up to this moment and this moment only.

Time seems to stop when Richie is on stage. He sings wonderfully, as he always does, but this time the song is so personal, making the experience of watching him perform feel brand new.

Richie stands tall, head held high and his eyes wide, chocolate curls spiraling off his head as he strums his guitar and sings loudly into the microphone, lips curved up, forming the most beautiful smile. He is not like he used to be, he is full of life, and energy, and everyday is a struggle, but Eddie has a feeling it will only get easier from here. As Richie performs, his gaze never falls to Eddie, but Eddie understands why. This song isn’t for him. This song isn’t for anybody but Richie. As the crowd goes wild, Richie belts the lyrics of the only song he has ever written about himself, “ _Bailing out, gobbling out of the sun. Paling out like I’ve been losing some blood… I imagine time will change me soon… still i thought I’d stay the person I was._ ”

The set is amazing. The song is amazing. Richie is _incredible._ Toward the end of the song, Eddie looks to his friends, who are dancing foolishly and belting every time Richie repeats the phrase “ugly moon”. Nothing has ever been this great. There is no way anything can top this, Eddie thinks.

_“But ugly moon you know I’m different now. Don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about… all the details Ive been leaving out… all the subjects you’ve been dancing around.”_

And when Richie gets off the stage, he moves quickly, full of energy, well rested and sappily happy. He approaches Eddie and the other losers with a large grin, accepting the hugs he is tackled with. Eddie can only watch with a pleased grin. This is everything Richie has ever deserved. Finally, Richie turns his attention to Eddie, and there is not a trace of unhappiness written across Richie’s face. He envelops Eddie in a tight embrace, and Eddie wraps his arms tightly around Richie, never wanting to let go, hoping he never _has_ to let go. Then comes Richie’s raspy voice: “Feels good to write for myself,” he says.

“I love you, Richie,” Eddie says, because Richie has not heard it enough and Eddie feels as though he will never say it enough. Pulling away, Eddie looks at Richie’s face. _Really_ looks— _that_ look. _That_ look which is suddenly a look of love, and perhaps it always has been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THATS THE END!!!!!!! thank u so much for reading i really appreciate it!!!!! sorry this chapter is so short but i posted the last four chapters so that should make it a little better. i love u all so much thank u for reading and supporting ugly moon !!!!!
> 
> LUV UUUUUUUUU hehe


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